


Memories

by Anonymous



Series: starkerforlife6969 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, iron man movies, spiderman far from home - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia fic, Bottom Peter, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Lies and Deceit, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Protective Tony, Starker, obsessed beck, possessive beck, protective beck, spiderio, tagging nonconn because peter consents to beck thinking he's his husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Peter wakes up from a car accident, he has none of his memories. Luckily, his husband: Quintin Beck is there to make sure he fully recovers.And so what if Beck doesn’t match all of Peter’s memories? He loves him. Beck does everything for him. Makes him breakfast, gives him massages, washes his hair. Caters to his every whim. Peter’s just confused. Confused that he remembers his husband having something blue and glowing in his chest, where Beck is all smooth lines. That he remembers living in the city, surrounded by technology, not in the middle of the woods.It’s just his mind. Playing tricks. That’s all.TW: noncon/dubcon because Peter consents thinking Beck is his husband, kidnapping, implied stalking, obsessive/infatuated Beck.





	1. Feeling "Right"

1.

Peter limps into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his crutches, overwhelmed by the smell of pancakes and waffles. His mouth waters, and he smiles as he spots Quentin plating up. He may not remember his husband or this stunning cabin in their forest that’s their home, but this feels _right_. Watching his husband cook up a storm on a lazy Saturday morning as sunlight streams in through the window feels right.

“Peter!” Beck scolds as soon as he sees him, abandoning the stove in favour of scooping Peter up into his arms. “You did the stairs alone? I told you: just call me and I’ll carry you. I don’t want you putting any pressure on that leg, god, are you trying to kill me?” He mutters, setting Peter down into one of the hand carved seats at the oak dining table.

Peter grins, licking his lips. “But everything smelt so good I couldn’t wait.”

Beck chuckles at that, and starts bringing plates to the table. “It’s a good thing you’ve got an appetite. Means you’re healing, baby.”

_Baby_. That feels right too, Peter thinks. His temple is still pretty badly bruised- splotches of purple and red from the accident, and he still can’t remember a thing, but being here with Beck feels _right_. Most of the time. Like the sunlight streaming in, or the way those big hands and muscled arms can lift him easily. How right they feel pressing into his skin. It’s like his body knows the touch of an older, stronger man. Beck feels right. The sunlight streaming in, all gold and beautiful, feels right.

Other things feel…less right. Peter tries not to think about that. He remembers what the nurse said; that he could get confused. That for some reason when he’d first seen their gorgeous wood cabin, he’d been surprised there weren’t more…modern finishings. He was surprised at the handcrafted furniture and the lack of smooth, sleek design.

He doesn’t know why.

He pushes it away for now, because Beck is his husband and Peter never thought he would be loved by someone so much. But Beck has been by his side the whole time- when he woke up in the hospital, and since then. Never leaving him. Patiently going through all their photos- wedding photos with a laughing May, honeymoon pictures- candids from hikes and trails. Beck’s been there- carrying him from room to room- rubbing cream into all of his aches and pains and answering every endless stream of questions Peter has.

Peter can see why he married Beck. He’s always had a thing for older guys, and Beck is gorgeous. A little part of Peter marvels at the fact that they’re married. That the gold band on his finger is all his. Beck is kind and sweet and-

“Sliced strawberries with pancakes,” Beck presents with a flourish, pressing a kiss onto Peter’s curls as he sets it down. “Your favourite.”

Is it his favourite? Peter doesn’t know, but he digs in ravenously because he is starving. Beck sits opposite him, just watching. He does that a lot. Peter finds it a little unnverving, but he doesn’t comment on it. He supposes he’d be pretty worried too, if his husband had been in a car accident. That’s probably the reason for all Beck’s hovering. He’s scared he could lose Peter again.

That makes his heart flutter a little. To be cared about so much.

“Here, drink your smoothie,” Beck urges, nudging the glass closer to Peter once he’s done devouring his stack of pancakes.

Peter does, and Beck gets this little gleam in his eye. Like he’s proud and pleased Peter’s doing what he says. That’s a little weird too, but- like the nurse said- his mind will play tricks on him. “It looks nice out,” Peter says, after gulping down half the glass of raspberry and banana. “We could go for a walk, maybe? Well, I’ll be in the wheelchair, but-“

Beck looks fond and he nods easily, nudging forward yet another plate. This one is more strawberries, all coated in melted chocolate. “If you want, baby, sure. Then I’ll run you a bath, you must be sore.”

Peter almost vibrates at the idea of submerging into hot, steaming water, and he nods eagerly, lips smacking around the melted chocolate as he sucks it off noisily.

Beck’s eyes, vividly green as they are, are stuck to Peter’s lips, and he blushes furiously.

“Sorry,” Beck grins; unabashed. “But you are a little minx, Peter Beck.”

He giggles at that, shaking his head. They haven’t done anything in the week he’s been back, because it hasn’t felt right. But Beck’s been so sweet, so supportive- he makes Peter feel sexy despite all these bruises and his clumsiness and his lack of memory.

Seeing _Peter B_ labelled on his wrist in the hospital had felt right.

Incomplete, maybe.

But mostly right.

“C’mon then, gorgeous,” Beck sighs once Peter’s done, “let’s get you changed and go outside.”

***  
The forest around their home is beautiful.

The leaves dance in the gentle breeze and it’s just green, green, green as far as the eye can see. It’s gorgeous. The muddy woodland trails, the squirrels that chase each other up moss-covered bark, and the dandelions that keep getting caught in this wheels of his chair.

Peter can’t drag his eyes away from any of it. Beck explains the trail as he pushes him, how they’ve walked this path before- how Peter loves to come out here when it’s snowing, or have picnics in the summer. How he once spent an entire month nursing a squirrel back to health.

It’s beyond words, but…it gives him a heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. All this green is lovely, but it…it doesn’t feel quite right. He doesn’t know why he keeps expecting to see skyscrapers that glitter in the sunlight, metal and sleek. Instead he sees fern and weeds and grasshoppers.

***

_“Do we have to go?” Peter pouts, as strong arms wind around his waist. “Couldn’t I tempt you to ditch the stupid gala and maybe…” he wiggles his eyebrows and nods towards the bed._

_A deep, warm baritone chuckles into his ear, and the scrape of a beard against his neck has him shivering. “Sweetheart, don’t tempt me. Pepper might actually kill us both if we pull that little stunt again.” A warm thumb traces over his lips._

_Peter nips at it, before letting his tongue trail teasingly over the tip, and the man- who’s face is blurred- inhales sharply._

_“Little brat,” is muttered fondly, before Peter is kissed to within an inch of his life._

**  
Beck’s fingers feel like heaven as they work the conditioner into his hair.

Peter lets his eyes drift close and sinks further down into the steaming, bubbly water. The fingers are so strong and relaxing, kneading into his scalp, sending tingles shooting down his spine, that he can’t help but hitch out a little moan that makes his cheeks heat up. He tries biting his lip to muffle the noise, but then warm, dry lips are kissing his forehead.

“Don’t hide your noises from me, baby,” Beck pleads, fingers still working their magic, “I like knowing I make you feel good.”

“So good,” Peter gasps, hands reaching out to grip the sides of the tub as he tips his head back further; entrusting himself into his husband’s capable fingers.

He can feel himself getting hard under the water, and he suddenly feels unbearably empty.

*  
 _“What’s all this?” Peter grins, his husband’s MIT shirt hanging over his frame, padding out of the bedroom into the kitchen._

_“I’m making you breakfast. Sit down, kiddo, get ready to be amazed.”_

_“I think I once saw you burn pasta-“_

_“Hush. Here, I’ve sliced you some fruit-“_

*

“I think I had a memory,” Peter admits, eyes still closed, the water lapping gently at the ceramic rim.

The fingers pause for a moment, before they carefully resume. “Oh, yeah?” Beck asks quietly. “What was it?”

“It was you,” Peter mumbles around a smile. “You were making me breakfast. It’s our Saturday morning tradition, isn’t it?”

Beck doesn’t say anything, so Peter goes on.

“I remember you once burnt pasta and ordered us shawarma. I think it was back when we lived in the city.”

“That’s right,” Beck cuts him off, moving to start rinsing Peter’s hair of the soap. The water is the perfect temperature. “That’s right, baby, you’re remembering everything.”

Once he’s rinsed off, he opens his eyes, as Beck helps him stand, and drapes him in a fluffy white towel. Peter blinks at him through long, wet lashes, and Beck pauses. He’s so broad, so strong, looking at Peter with such devotion- “You love me.” Peter deduces with a pleased little grin, because he can feel it in all his memories. He can see it in the way Beck looks at him now.

Beck chuckles, cupping Peter’s face in his hands, and kissing his nose. “You didn’t need your memory back to know that, baby.”

But Peter did. He needed those memories. Needs them. Because Beck’s love now seems…overly protective. Worried. Hovering. Peter understands, of course, but in the memories, the love is different. It’s calmer, softer. More real. It’ll go back to that soon, Peter’s sure. As soon as he remembers everything.

So, he leans forward, and wraps his wet arms around Beck’s broad shoulders, and tips his face up. Beck doesn’t move; just stares at him, barely breathing.

“I want you,” Peter whispers, before pressing their lips together.

Beck doesn’t respond at first. Is as still as stone. But when he does- it’s like a switch has suddenly been flipped.

He kisses back greedily, taking the lead, and before Peter knows it, he’s being hoisted out of the bathtub and into the bedroom.

Beck lays him on the bed, before hovering over him, arms braced on either side of Peter’s head- he feels closed in- he feels safe-

“God, Peter, you have no idea how long-“ Beck chokes off, as he starts kissing down Peter’s chest. The scrape of his beard feels so _right_ Peter can hardly bear it. He tugs at Beck’s shirt, and for some reason-

that broad chest, those defined muscles- it’s like something’s missing. Like there should be something _glowing_ -

His mind is playing tricks.

Peter almost jackknives off the bed when Beck takes him in his mouth. His fingers tighten into that thick, dark hair as Beck swallows him right down to the root. God, fuck, it feels so good, he can’t help but let out a high pitched keen. It sounds so desperate, so embarrassingly erotic- but he can’t help it, twitching and thrusting as much as he can as Beck pins his hips to the bed with his strong hands.

“I’m gunna- Beck- I’m gunna!” Peter cries out, and suddenly Beck pulls off, and Peter’s left right on the precipice; gasping. He watches through hooded eyes as Beck unbuckles his belt and that’s a familiar image- that looks right- it makes his blood boil with desire. “Yeah, yeah,” Peter whispers, wrapping his uninjured leg around Beck’s hip and tugging him closer, “want it- need your cock, Beck, please-“

“Jesus Christ, baby,” Beck groans, pulling himself out and letting his fat cock slide between Peter’s cheeks. “You are a gift, I knew you’d- always knew you’d be this good-“

Peter doesn’t understand that, but then Beck’s reaching for the lube and all Peter wants is to be split open- to be fucked- he’s babbling, begging for it, and he should be humiliated, but Beck is his husband, is worshipping him with his eyes and his tongue and his fingers, _oh_ as they stretch him out, one, then two, then three, and Peter can’t take it.

_*_

_“Such a good boy for me, Pete. Fuck. You like it when daddy fills you up, sweetheart?”_

_*_

The memory makes him hotter, and he feels Beck’s dick nudge against his hole and he cants his hips up desperately. “Daddy,” he pants, “I want it- I want it-“

“ _Fuck_.” Beck growls, pushing in with one, long, glorious thrust. The whirring of Peter’s brain finally stops, he feels stretched to the max, blissed out, the small thrum of pain completely overridden by the huge crest of pleasure. This feels completely _right_. “Want me to be your daddy, Peter? You got it, baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll only remember me. No one else, I’m the only one.”

His thrusts are slow and brilliantly deep, they rock Peter to his core and he can only arch his back and toss his head into the pillows and wail with pleasure as Beck fills him up so good, he can’t think about anything else- just this- the way his little hole is stretched so far around Beck’s big cock and-

“That’s right, baby,” Beck pants into his ear, his beard scraping along Peter’s neck (it feels right, right, _right_ ) “I’m the biggest thing your little hole’s ever taken, isn’t that right? Tell me, Peter. Go on, baby, tell daddy his cock is the best you’ve ever had. Better than that no good-”

Peter lets out a sob of desire, cumming without a single touch, spilling onto his stomach, and Beck coos at him, but doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. Keeps thrusting with the same, furious rhythm and Peter lets out a little hitched moan each time his prostate is hit. It feels so good, he’s mewling in ecstasy-

“C’mon, Peter, tell me. Who’s filling you up so good? Who’s the best you’ve ever had?” Beck pants, almost viciously, pounding into his hole faster and faster-

“You are!” Peter squeals, pushing back to meet him every time. “You are Beck, you’re the best- best, biggest cock ever- my hole loves your cock, doesn’t want anything else ever-“

Beck roars when he cums, teeth finding Peter’s collar and biting hard as Peter sags into the bed, cock still leaking cum onto his belly.

Beck’s still breathing hard when he pulls out; red faced and sweating. He looks absurdly handsome like that, Peter thinks, still dazed.

“Fuck, baby,” Beck whispers, leaning down to drop tender kisses onto Peter’s cheeks, before finding his mouth, and catching his lips softly. Peter lies there docilely, lets Beck’s tongue thrust into his willing mouth. “Goddamn, _jesus_ , you were so good. Better than I could ever have imagined. Never ever letting you go, we’re doing that all the time.”

Peter giggles, the praise soaking into his skin even as he drifts towards sleep. “You’re acting as if we’ve never had sex,” he points out.

Beck laughs, tweaking one of Peter’s nipples fondly. “A few weeks without sex will do that to a man. Forgot how much I loved your little hole. I forgot how much you loved calling me daddy.”

Peter blushes, but he’s so sleepy that he doesn’t register any of what really happened. That Beck had been surprised by the name even though Peter was certain they’d used it before. That Beck had worshipped Peter’s body, sucking him down to the root as if he’d never had it before- like he couldn’t get enough-

He doesn’t register any of it. He only registers the soft bed sheets, and the soft kiss on the temple Beck gives him as he’s tucked in to sleep.


	2. Feel like Italian?

******2**

It’s a gorgeous day.

Though every day in this cabin, nestled in the heart of the woods, must be gorgeous, Peter thinks. Rain or shine, snow or hail, the trees will prevail either covered in lush green or suffused in an oaky, dark brown. The trails will either crunch like gravel underfoot, or be slippery with mud, but he thinks everyday here would be gorgeous.

The sun is shining again today, and his leg is feeling a little better. He woke to discover that he could place a little more weight on it, and had turned to gleefully tell Beck, only to see that his side of the bed was empty.

On the pillow was a note:

_You were too beautiful to wake up, baby. You need your sleep. I’ve just taken the car to the store to buy us some groceries. I think I’ll make you Italian tonight_

_Love always,_

_Beck._

Italian. Peter folds the note and presses it against his heart. Italian sounds right. For some reasons, he can hear someone whispering _bambino_ and he feels settled deep inside. He feels comfortable and safe, like he’s being held in a familiar embrace.

So, he contents himself to pottering about. He loves exploring this house, though none of it triggers any memories. He sees bookcases crammed with books- most of them well-thumbed, and though he doesn’t recognise the titles, they must be favourites. He likes going through the photo albums, or through his closet, looking at the clothes he has and trying to see if he can ever remember wearing them.

He never can. He had a dream a few nights ago, about a pair of Hello Kitty pyjama pants, but he’s looked through his entire closet, and not found anything close to matching.

He’s just managed to hobble his way down the huge flight of wooden stairs, when the phone rings.

It makes him jump almost a foot in the air, he’s so used to the silence of the woods, before he heads over to it. It’s an old fashioned phone, stuck to the wall with a curly telephone line. It’s nice and retro, kind of vintage in feel, but it doesn’t seem _right_. For some reason Peter remembers something more modern-

Regardless, he lifts it up and holds it to his ear. “Hello,” he greets, “Peter St-Beck here. Peter Beck.” He stumbles, a small sense of dread in his stomach. What name had he been going to say? It had nearly slipped right off the tongue like muscle memory, like a reflex his brain had gone to automatically. St…? Stanely? Peter Stevens? Horror wells up in his throat.

_“Oh, I think I have the wrong number! Is this not the Toomes residence? I’m looking for Mrs Toomes.”_

Peter frowns. “Sorry, no, just me and my husband here.”

“My mistake! Sorry!” And then the line cuts out.

He limps into the living room and collapses onto the plush couch, mind still reeling. St-. _Peter St-_ that’s weird. Really weird. But it’s niggling in a way that is sending his mind into overdrive. It’s making him feel bad and anxious and he doesn’t want to think about it anymore, he wishes Beck were here.

He remembers then, that Beck always leaves his phone number taped to the fridge. Peter doesn’t know anyone’s number anymore, and his mobile had been destroyed in the accident apparently, besides, Beck had told him that reception wasn’t great here.

Still, he heads to the kitchen, takes the number, and goes to the phone.

His fingers tremble as he dials, but he doesn’t care. He just wants this feeling to go away. The feeling that everything is wrong and-

 _“Peter?_ ” Beck answers on the first ring, voice tight with worry. _“Are you okay? Did something happen?”_

His voice is so concerned, so sympathetic, that Peter bursts into tears. Little hitching sobs into the receiver. “Can you come home?” He sniffles, feeling selfish. “I just- need you, everything feels all wrong, and I’m- s-scared and-“

_“I was already on my way back, sweetheart, it’s okay. Shhh, you’re okay, baby, you’re fine. I’m about fifteen minutes away, will you be alright?”_

Peter sniffles, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall, clutching the phone for dear life. “Beck, I need you, please,” he whispers, and he can hear the sound of the car engine getting faster.

_“I’m coming, baby, it’s gonna be okay. I love you and you’re doing fine. It’s okay, it’s okay, shhh. I’m coming, alright? Just sit on the couch, baby, wait for me, I’m coming, I promise.”_

Peter doesn’t want to stop listening to his voice. Doesn’t want the silence to come encroaching in. He can’t help but feel sometimes like Beck’s voice isn’t quite right. Like he’s expecting a lower, smoother baritone. That he’s expecting someone a little more sarcastic and teasing-

But Beck was probably like that before the crash. He’s different now because he’s so worried about Peter-

And Peter is taking up so much of his time. Making him do so much for him-

He crawls onto the couch, curls up into a ball and starts to cry.

Peter St-

Strange?

That rings- maybe- does that ring a bell? Strange? It seems…somehow familiar and-

Time must have passed in his daze, but Beck is suddenly there, dropping his bags of groceries and rushing to Peter’s side, drawing him into his big strong arms.

He feels so much safer with Beck there. With his husband, helping him.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Beck soothes, rubbing his hands up and down Peter’s back as Peter clings to him. “I never should have left you alone, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, this is my fault-“

“No!” Peter insists wetly, burrowing his face into the crook of Beck’s neck. “No, I’m sorry. You do so much for me, and I- I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Beck promises, clucking soothingly into his ear. “It was an accident, Peter, you were hurt, it’s okay.”

God, this all feels- he feels-

He doesn’t want to think anymore.

With a gasp of determination, he moves back, only to press their lips together.

Beck responds immediately: enthusiastic and pleased, and the scrape of his beard and the way his big hands holds Peter’s waist- that feels right. He can lose himself to that. Drown out the little voices into a hum.

He tugs Beck onto the couch, and moves to straddle him, dragging their clothed cocks together and Beck throws his head back into the cushions and groans appreciatively, his hands dragging up and down peter’s sides. “Fuck, Peter, I’ll never have enough of you.” He grunts, and Peter nods, hair spilling into his eyes, as he tugs down his sweatpants hurriedly. He just wants to feel- he doesn’t want to feel incomplete- he wants to feel as good as he felt last time he and Beck had sex- the first time- a few nights ago.

He wants to be filled up- he wants- he wants all the horrible, beautiful, nonsensical memories to go away-

“I’ve got you, baby,” Beck grunts, reaching for the drawer beside them and pulling out some lube. Peter blinks at that, almost smiling. They must have done this before, then. The thought is reassuring.

Two slick fingers are suddenly pressing at his hole and Peter mewls, coming forward to clench his hands in Beck’s shirt and grind against him. “I want it,” he whispers, canting his hips back desperately. He feels like a slut, and the thought turns him on a little.

*  
 _“My greedy little slut, daddy’s best boy in the world, aren’t you? You want it so bad, bambino. C’mon, open up for me.”_

*  
He gasps when Beck brushes against his prostate, and he moves to bat his fingers out of the way. “Want you in me, daddy,” he begs, and Beck’s voice breaks in a moan.

His movements become clumsy as he lines his thick cock up, and Peter aches for it desperately. “Daddy’s got you, baby, fuck, daddy loves you and your tight little hole, you know that right? I always have-“ he pushes the tip in and Peter wails in bliss, legs spreading wider across Beck’s thighs to get more of it in him, “-even when you were with _him_ , I knew I’d love you better- knew how good we’d be together, because I love you so much, daddy worships you, Peter.”

Peter manages to get another glorious inch inside him, stretching him to his limit, he wants more he’s panting deliriously, rock hard against Beck’s abs, leaking precum everywhere-

“You want me, baby?” Beck growls, teeth finding Peter’s throat and biting and sucking deep bruises-

“Yeah, yeah, yes please, daddy,” Peter mewls, and suddenly Beck’s strong hands are on his waist, and slamming him down all the way, until they’re pressed entirely together and Peter can feel Beck’s balls resting against his ass, and he feels so deliciously full.

Beck’s crying out in pleasure as Peter’s hole convulses all around him, and Peter rocks back and forth a little, feeling Beck’s huge cock spearing him open-

“You feel so good,” Peter admits, looking down through his hair to see Beck gazing up at him. There’s worship in his eyes; unbridled passion in his gaze. Beck looks adoring, and it makes Peter feel so openly loved- it’s a little scary- but mostly, it’s flattering. To be loved so much.

Beck’s mouth closes around his nipple, and he rocks up on his heels, sending Peter bouncing, which sends sharp tingles of pleasure through his body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Peter, Jesus, if I’d known I never would’ve been able to wait.”

Peter frowns, the words registering through his cloudy haze of pleasure. “Known what?” He pants, but Beck just wraps a hand around his cock, his palm scraping over Peter’s sensitive tip and his train of thought is completely derailed as Beck toys with him.

It’s a flurry of sensation after that- being thrust into, nipples being nipped, hickies on his shoulders and collar, Beck’s hands gripping so tight is bruises in the best way. Everything ebbs until finally he reaches climax and all the fear he forgotten.

***  
In a dusty red barn in rural Tennessee, Tony Stark opens his eyes.

He immediately breaks into a fit of coughing, but suddenly a cool glass is pressed against his dry lips and he drains the water greedily as his eyes adjust.

The barn is dimly lit by a few odd-looking lamps, and it’s daytime outside, if the rays of sunshine creeping in through between the wood slats are anything to go by. There’s metal junk here and there, and he’s- he’s on a mattress on the sandy ground, and a-

a _child_ is staring at him, looking very unimpressed indeed.

“I totally thought you were going to die, dude.” Says the blond child.

Tony stares.

The child stares.

A cricket chirps somewhere in the distance.

“You’ve been sleeping for like a week.” The boy says. He has dirty blond hair and big eyes. Do all children have big eyes? Tony isn’t sure. He can’t really remember the last time he was so close to a child.

A sassy child at that. “I think you’ll find that I was probably in a _coma_ , dipshit.” He snaps, voice rough, and the child looks even more unimpressed at that, but hands Tony the rest of the water and pads over to a workbench covered in tools.

On it, is a mostly disassembled Iron Man suit.

“What the hell did you do to my suit?!” Tony yells, lurching upwards. A sharp pain shoots through his side, but he’s able to get off the mattress and limp over. God, he aches.

“I’m trying to fix it for you.” The boy rolls his eyes, “it was worse when you landed.”

“When I…”

“You fell out of the sky and landed in a big puddle. It was pretty funny. But then…” the boy frowns, shaking his head. “You didn’t wake up. I was gunna call the hospital but…” he shrugs, looking at Tony out of the corner of his eye, “you had a gun and I was scared because Iron Man doesn’t use guns anymore.”

“A gun?” Tony frowns, shaking his head- and then with a blinding stab of pain- everything comes rushing back.

JARVIS’s voice- low and distorted, trying to warn them. Tony and Peter half asleep in bed, watching an old movie- the doors of the penthouse being blown open- and a man- a man- one of Tony’s employees-

He remembers getting in his suit- he remembers trying to shield Peter, he remembers the shattering of glass and screaming. He remembers managing to get the gun out of the man’s hands but not before a bomb had gone off and then-

“ _Breathe_! Breathe like me! In and out! In and out!” A high-pitched voice screams, shaking Tony’s shoulders violently, and the black spots in his vision come in and out of focus.

Peter. Oh god, the man has- Tony’s been unconscious for week, oh _god_ -

“You’re having a panic attack, Mr Stark! It’s okay- you’re safe, it’s okay-“

“Was anyone with me?” Tony gasps, as if he’s just resurfaced after nearly drowning. “Did anyone else come out of the sky with me?” He grabs the boy’s shoulders hard- too hard, probably- and his little face twists up in fear. “C’mon kid, come on! Was anyone else with me?”

“N-no!” The boy stammers, “no, you were alone, you were-“

Tony can’t breathe. The man has Peter. Has had Peter for a week-

“He took my husband.” Tony chokes; tears in his eyes, “he took- he took him, he _took_ -“ he was supposed to keep Peter safe. He’s Iron Man. He’s- he’s _nothing_.

The boy holds him, awkward, but strong, and Tony lets hot, silent tears stream down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love and I require love to survive.


	3. I'm Feeling Good

3.

Peter’s only been with him for nine days, but it’s felt like a glorious eternity. Beck feels as if this summer could go on forever.

He takes a breath, raises his arms ,and swings the axe down.

The log of wood parts with a satisfying _thwack_ and rolls onto the grass. The sun beats down onto his bare shoulders, and he tips his head back to the sky.

He lets out a long, slow smile that morphs into a laugh. He laughs, loud and carefree, god, it’s been so _easy_. Killing the Toomes family- really, he’d had to kill Adrian anyway, for everything he’d put Peter through. The wife and daughter had been more of a…necessity. Killing them for this gorgeous, perfectly secluded home. So easy to fill with right the right furniture, to import the right clothes and to keep them far away from everyone. So easy to build this perfect life.

And Jeez! It was absurdly easy getting rid of Stark. To hack into JARVIS and get into the penthouse. To finally take Peter- bring him where he belongs.

To have loved someone from afar for so long is nothing to having that love returned.

To see Peter smile at him, trust him, love him, give himself to Beck completely- to call his name during sex, it’s incomparable. It’s all he’s wanted for so long, he never actually dreamt he’d get it. But he does, and Beck’s never been happier.

Peter’s perfect. He’s always been perfect. Back when the two of them had worked together- elbows brushing on the 25th floor of Stark’s lab as a team of nanotech researchers. Beck had been on the very cusp of asking his beautiful coworker out, when Peter had been promoted, again and again, until he was Stark’s head scientist. Until he was Stark’s boyfriend, fiancé, husband it had made Beck sick to his stomach.

Tony had taken everything from him. All of Beck’s designs, all of his tech, all of his ideas, and then the final straw- Peter.

“Are you gonna light the fireplace tonight?” Comes an enthusiastic shout, and Beck looks up at the house to see Peter leaning over the edge of the balcony on the second floor, still in his pyjamas, the wind ruffling his fluffy curls.

Beck chuckles, and sets down his axe, mindful of the way his muscles ripple. Peter likes his abs. Peter thinks he’s handsome.

Finally, Peter can see _him_. Not just Stark. Finally, _he’s_ the only one that matters-

“I was thinking about it!” Beck yells back, and Peter’s giggle carries over the breeze.

“We could roast marshmallows!”

Beck nods happily. “Anything you want, baby!” He promises, because that’s always been true. He loves Peter. He’d do anything for him. He has always been willing to do everything for him. That’s what love is, whether the other person knows it or not. it’s undying devotion.

He watches as Peter heads back inside, he’s limping less and less everyday, but he hasn’t taken to roaming outside the house alone. _Good_ , Beck thinks. If Peter does start to explore the forest, he’ll come to the huge gate that completely surrounds the property. Beck doesn’t really want that.

He doesn’t want Peter getting too healthy too fast either. Not before Beck’s fully won him over. Doesn’t want unnecessary questions. Not yet. It’s not ready. Peter is starting to love him, Beck’s sure. Or is at least trying to, but Beck has to keep playing it just right. Has to show Peter how good it is to be married to him so that even if Peter does get his memory back he wouldn’t leave, because he’d have seen how much better it was to stay here- to stay safe, with Beck.

*

_“Come on, gorgeous,” Tony murmurs, trailing his fingers feather-light down Peter’s spine through his lab coat. “You can’t keep bending over desks and assuming I can control myself. I can’t. Not when you have a body like that.”_

_Peter gives him a firm look through his glasses. “Mr Stark, I told you I’d only accept this position if you understood that I will not date you.”_

_Tony very nearly pouts. “But you want to date me.”_

_Peter blushes a little, turning back to the beakers. “Whether or not that’s true, it would make our working life that much more difficult if we were to…or if something went wrong. It’s better to just keep it professional.”_

_“Please,” Tony snorts, rolling his eyes, “I’ve slept with nearly everyone in the finance department and nothing’s affected our working relationship. As long as everyone goes in knowing there’s no feelings-“_

_“Exactly,” Peter whispers quietly, and he suddenly meets Tony’s eyes- beautiful molten amber- “I’m not sure I could go in knowing that there were no…feelings, Mr Stark. Tony. I think it’s best if maybe you let me go. Sarah in Robotics is stunning, and I’m pretty sure she’d give just about anything to have you to herself for a night.”_

_Tony stares. Feelings. Peter has- feelings for him- something deeper than this shallow attraction that they both clearly share for each other. Peter- “You care about me, Mr Parker?” He manages to tease, trying to shield his emotion behind his voice. He’s reeling. Peter cares about him, maybe there’s something more- maybe they can-_

_Peter gives him a small smile. “I think you know that’s been the case for a long time, Tony.”_

*  
Tony barely hears it when Harley walks in, he’s so lost in the memory, and it’s only when a poorly cut ham sandwich is tossed in front of him that he looks up. He nods politely, but doesn’t eat it. “Thanks, kid, but there’s no time to eat. I’ve gotta rebuild this thing. In the middle of goddamn nowhere.”

Harley hops up onto the desk, biting ravenously into his own sandwich. “And you can’t call anyone cuz your talking robot is compromised?” He says; muffled through food, and Tony nods, cursing when the hot metal of his armour burns his fingers. He doesn’t have all the tools he needs- this is going to be crude, messier than he’d like, but more importantly: slower. This is going to take ages to fix. But he doesn’t have ages. Peter is god-knows-where with some maniac-

“And JARVIS isn’t a talking robot, he’s an AI.” Tony sighs, leaning back to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What if something’s already happened-“

“You can’t think like that.” Harley says wisely. “You said that he wanted Peter alive. Why would he hurt him?”

“But there hasn’t been a ransom demand, has there?”

Harley shakes his head thoughtfully. “I watched the news like you told me to but it was just that woman- Pepper Pots- and Rhodes and some guy: Doctor Strange, all giving press statements looking for you and Peter. Celebs TV thinks you two have gone to space or something for an expensive second honeymoon.”

Tony almost smiles at that, even though his heart breaks a little. Pepper and Rhodey and Stephen, at least they’re okay. But Peter- where is he? And god, he must be worrying about Tony. Working himself up into a frenzy, his thoughts driving him mad with worry like they always do when Tony goes out to fight. Peter can’t sleep without him there- worries until he’s home and he can tend to Tony’s wounds with fingers so gentle and a touch so light it’s as though he thinks Tony could shatter any second.

“I used to worry him so much.” Tony whispers, voice choked. “He was so scared every time I went- and then the black hole- he thought I might not- I was so _selfish_ -“

“You saved the world.” Harley says firmly, nudging the sandwich back towards him. “You told me that Peter loved that about you too- how much you cared about everyone. He’s not gunna blame you for some crazy man kidnapping him, Anthony. He’s your husband. He loves you.”

Tony nods miserably, giving in and reaching for the sandwich. “You’re right, kid. You’re right. _God_ , I’m- I just need to find him. And what did I say about calling me Anthony?”

“What did I say about calling me kid?”

*  
Peter is so fucking sexy. Beck can’t take his eyes off him.

Even now, the two of them sitting opposite each other on the bear skin rug, Peter draped in blankets, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the fire, moaning around melted marshmallows and licking melted chocolate off his lips, Beck just wants to make love to him.

How can anyone be so beautiful? So smart? He looks like he was crafted by the Greeks, his eyes like honey, skin soft as rose petals, and his cherubic curls- angel’s innocence- he’s just-

“Beck,” Peter murmurs, blushing all over, “you’re doing it again.”

He grins, shaking his head. “I can’t help it, baby. You just- you make me so happy.” He’d always known. Always knew they could be this happy. If only they’d been given the chance.

“I must have scared you,” Peter says quietly, looking sad. “When you heard about the accident you must have been so scared, I’m just…” he shakes his head, but Beck reaches over and collects those delicate hands in his own, larger ones.

“I was scared,” he admits, though not of the accident. All of Peter’s injuries had come from the fight he’d put up, but just a douse of Beck’s serum, that had been enough to wipe his mind clear. At least for a while. Honestly, Beck hadn’t even meant to break his leg when he’d flung Peter across the penthouse, but the boy had been infuriatingly protective of Stark- he’d screamed so much- “but then you got better,” he brings Peter’s hands to his lips and kisses them softly. They smell like marshmallows. “I have you back.”

“You take such good care of me.” Peter whispers, eyes filled with awe. It’s so exhilarating to see that look from him. It’s like a drug Beck can’t get enough of. “I was wondering,” Peter says, leaning towards the heat of the flames. “Maybe I could go to town with you tomorrow? I’m getting a little crazy cooped up in this place. And it might help my memories?”

Beck hums thoughtfully, reaching his thumb down to swipe through the bowl of melted chocolate before holding it to Peter’s mouth.

It’s so fucking erotic the way Peter leans in, closes his mouth around Beck’s thumb and licks all the chocolate off. Jesus, Beck’s erection is pressing hard against his jeans.

“Maybe not town.” Beck murmurs gently, dragging his spit slick thumb down over Peter’s plush bottom lip, admiring the pinkness. “So many people- I’m afraid it’ll overwhelm you. But there’s a beach not too far. A few hours drive, it’s nice and private. Would you like that?”

“The beach?” Peter asks curiously, nuzzling Beck’s hand. “I can’t even remember if I like swimming.”

“You like surfing, a little,” Beck says with a shrug. He’s not sure if it’s true. They’ve never talked about the beach before. “But mostly you just like to tan and make sandcastles. You once got really mad when I accidentally ruined your specially designed sand moat.”

Peter giggles, and he nods a little shyly. “The beach sounds fun. Are you sure your office is fine with you taking so much time off? I’d hate to be a burden.”

“Baby, they have been so accommodating. Remember, I told you, everyone at the law firm loves you so much, they’ve told me to take as much time as I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Peter goes that beautiful red again. “They’re my friends?”

“Everyone you meet is your friend,” Beck says honestly, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“I have to meet them sometime. Thank them for everything they’re doing for us.”

“You will, baby, in time.” Beck murmurs, before taking Peter’s hand and drawing it over the bulge in his jeans.

Peter laughs, a beautiful, melodic sound, “you are insatiable.” He teases, even as his hand rubs along the outline of Beck’s dick.

Jesus, it feels so good- _fuck_ , this is what love is. It’s bliss, it’s perfect- “Of course I am. Have you seen my husband? Probably the most gorgeous man on the face of the planet.”

It takes a little coaxing- Peter’s still so shy- before Beck’s got that delicious mouth wrapped around his cock.

God, he almost wishes Stark could see him now. Finally see that Beck is not only a worthy competitor, but superior. Smarter, more desirable, and he has Peter fucking Parker sucking his cock- looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, and Beck cards his fingers through his hair as he lets out moans through gritted teeth.

This is the stuff of dreams. This is all he ever wanted.

And Jesus, the daddy stuff? It’s so fucking hot he can’t even believe it. He doesn’t doubt that it’s probably a memory overlap from what Peter did with Stark, but Beck doesn’t care. It’s like learning all the different things about Peter that he never knew before- no matter how much he watched. Like how Peter sounds when he cums, how gorgeous his little cocklet is, how he shudders when his nipples are teased.

All things that were beyond the cusp of Beck’s knowledge, are now in his grasp.

He’ll be Peter’s daddy in the bedroom, he’ll fucking cherish the role. The head of his cock nudges the back of Peter’s throat and Beck spills his load without warning, unable to help himself, but Peter swallows him all so sweetly, so fucking sexy- Beck’s in heaven.

This is heaven.

Peter pulls off, lips shiny, and Beck pulls him in for a kiss. Peter melts into him, all soft and needy- not a smidge of resistance.

“Turn over, baby,” Beck pants, blood boiling when Peter hurries to obey. God, he’s so trusting. How easily has this angel given in to an almost stranger?

When his beard scrapes against Peter’s hole, he knows he made the right decision. The resulting cry he gets is like music to his ears.

He doesn’t know that Peter’s losing himself to the sensation. That he’s thinking of someone else- a blur- that isn’t Beck.

***

_Peter’s humming to himself as he heads for the elevator. He’s still laughing in his head over Tony’s latest antics. Coming into the office to see a bouquet of roses spilling onto his desk- who’d have known that the tech tycoon was such an old romantic?_

_Peter’s got some lingerie at home he’s going to try on- he wants to surprise Tony. Wants to do something special for the man who means so much to him-_

_“Hold the door!” Someone yells, and Peter sticks his hand out to stop the doors from closing, only to beam at the sight of Beck- breathless, a little flustered, with his bag slipping off his shoulders._

_“Hey, Beck,” he grins, stepping to the side. “Another late night? Are you working on some new projects downstairs?”_

_Beck chuckles, pressing the close button and shrugging. “Kinda. It’s nowhere near as fun without you, Pete. None of the others get me.”_

_Peter presses his lips together sympathetically. “I’m sure that’s not true. Natalie’s really nice, and she’s still in your division, isn’t she?”_

_“I guess,” Beck shrugs, “I just miss you, that’s all. Ever since Stark’s taken you away.”_

_His voice is oddly bitter. Peter puts on a smile anyway. “I guess so. But hey, I heard he’s launching your AR prototype. That’s gotta be amazing! I think it’s gonna be demoed on the website and everything.”_

_Beck looks unusually sour. “If I even get the credit.”_

_“Of course you will!” Peter gasps, “you’ll definitely get the credit, Beck. You’re a genius and everyone knows it! If you’re- if you’re feeling unappreciated, I’ll talk to Tony about it because you shouldn’t. You’re so smart and hardworking, and I-“ he smiles gently, “I miss working with you too.”_

_When he looks up, Beck is staring at him. He looks hopeful and Peter smiles. He doesn’t want Beck to be sad. He doesn’t want anyone to be sad. Especially working for SI. It’s the best company in the-_

_“Peter,” Beck gasps out, turning to face him head on. Peter blinks in surprise at the intensity of his voice. “Peter, there’s something I wanted- I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now-“_

_The doors slide open and Strange walks in. He barely gives Beck a look, before turning to Peter. “Quintin. Peter, I looked over your physics plans, it looks good. But I’m sending them over to Bruce for another look.”_

_Peter nods happily, rocking on his heels. “That’s awesome! And are you and Christine gonna come to dinner tomorrow?”_

_Stephen looks soft for a second- breaking through the stoic, which Peter considers a huge win. “I think we will. Are you leaving for the night?”_

_“Tony needs to get some work done,” Peter giggles. “I’m a little bit of a distraction.”_

_“Consider me surprised.” Stephen drawls sarcastically and Peter laughs. Before he remembers that Beck was going to tell him something._

_“Beck! Sorry, what were you saying?” He asks, but Beck is glowering, his hands are curled into fists and his jaw is locked._

_“Nothing.” He snaps, stalking out as soon as the door opens._

_Peter frowns, and Stephen does too. “He’s not giving you any trouble is he, Peter?” Stephen asks, but Peter waves him off._

_“No, no, he’s just…” he shrugs, “maybe he had an off day. It happens to all of us. Don’t worry.”_

_Stephen nods, but he doesn’t relax._

*

“What are you doing?” Pepper asks, eyes rimmed red with tears, as she heads over to where Stephen is scrolling through a database of photos.

“I’m looking through past employees.” Stephen admits, “it might be a long shot, but I think I remember something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make my heart SING.


	4. I Feel a little Strange

**When Peter wakes up from a car accident, he has none of his memories. Luckily, his husband: Quintin Beck, is there to make sure he fully recovers.**

Read the first 4 chapters on **ao3[here](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F19871395%2Fchapters%2F47060086&t=MWJlMjM0OGU5MjJjY2JiYjk2ZTk5YzQ0YzExOWMwN2VkNWU0YzkxOCxpbElGYWMxSQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AqOgoFU8CpSjar1ZmCZsxWg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstarkerforlife6969.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F186398588390%2Fmemories-part-2-starkerspiderio&m=1)**

4

He writes _Peter Strange_ into the sand, but it doesn’t look right.

In fact, it looks horrifically wrong, and he frantically smears it out until it’s just a clump of wet sand.

He pushes it from his mind. He’s having a nice time. The sun is shining, and the waves are gorgeous, just like Beck said they would be. They have a whole picnic basket and blankets and towels spread out and Beck even brought two surfboards because apparently, he likes surfing.

He thumbs the ankle-latch on the nearest board and mourns the lost skill.

“It’s like riding a bike, baby…probably,” Beck reassures, jogging over. Peter can’t help the jolt of lust that shoots through him. Beck is so handsome. And the red swim shorts show his long, toned thighs and his chiselled abs and broad shoulders. His tan skin glows in the sun and his hair looks darker sprayed with the ocean.

It looks more right that way. Darker. Maybe he used to dye it.

Peter offers a weak smile. He’d fallen asleep on the long drive here which was…he hadn’t been tired. Beck had assured him it was just his body needing extra rest due to his injuries and the soft lull of the Jeep.

Peter wants to believe him but…how had he slept all that time? He’d been desperate to see the road and the journey.

“Drink some water, baby, it’s hot out.” Beck insists, handing Peter a bottle from the cooler, before grabbing the suncream and moving to sit behind him.

Peter ends up between his legs, Beck enveloping him from behind, as he starts to rub the cream into Peter’s skin.

“You burn so easily, gorgeous. Would hate to see you in more pain.” And he drops a kiss to Peter’s shoulder.

*

  
_“Maybe we should have honeymooned in the Artic. Someplace where you wouldn’t be flaking off and I could actually ravish you without it hurting.” The blur says, and Peter giggles, even as he winces when the blur rubs aloe vera into all his burns._

_“Sorry, T. I’m ruining everything.” Peter pouts, flinching again._

_The blur kisses his hair and chuckles. “Baby, anytime with you is utterly perfect.”_

_Peter shoves him a little. “You’re such a sap. I can still suck you off, though.”_

_“Have you always been so romantic, darling?”_

_“Hush. Now take your pants off and lie down.”_

*

The flights are unsteady and he wobbles dangerously from side to side, but the propulstors work.

“You look kinda like if Iron Man became a zombie,” Harley says, looking up at him and typing some figures into the ipad. “But it’’ll get you back to New York.”

“Yeah,” Tony grunts, readjusting some of the sharper piece of metal away from his flesh. “The problem is that without JARVIS we’re using the GPS we built and it keeps disconnecting.”

Harley laughs, “you could always scare the shit out of a passer by and ask for directions!”

“Hey, no swearing.” Tony points warningly, but he quickly retracts his hands, feeling far too much like a parent. But he feels better now. Back in his suit. “Okay, I’m gunna…go now.” He beckons to the open sky.

Harley sighs, before shaking his head ruefully. “No one is ever gunna believe that Tony Stark lived in my shed for over a week.” He says sadly.

Tony winks at him, shooting up into the sky.

“Everything’ll be okay!” Harley yells over the whir, and Tony doesn’t have the heart to even entertain the thought that Harley might be wrong.

*

He does like surfing.

It’s exhilarating. The wind in his hair, the push of the waves, and he’s good at it too. His body is strong and flexible, and though his leg is still bruised and he wobbles, he manages to stand up and travel along a surge of adrenaline, before toppling into the waves.

He resurfaces; laughing. He reaches out to tug the yellow board closer, dragging his body onto it chest down, and using his arms to pull himself to where Beck is struggling to even get his board under control. Peter laughs, shaking his head. “You’re useless,” he teases and Beck snorts.

“It’s your thing, not mine.”

“Do we go to the beach a lot?” Peter asks, the water lapping at his sides.

“Not really,” Beck shrugs, “we’re homebodies.”

“That sounds right.” Peter giggles, watching as Beck topples off his board again. For some reason though, he can remember private jets and flying all over the world.

Maybe it was a dream.

“Beck,” he murmurs, as they start heading back to shore. “I was thinking about maybe- seeing a therapist? Or someone who can help me these memories. Because whenever you leave, it’s like…I feel like I’m gunna have a panic attack, and so much just doesn’t make sense.”

“If that’s how you feel, baby, sure. I’ll call the hospital and ask around.”

His shoulders sag in relief, and he smiles gratefully. “Thanks. And maybe when I get some more memories back- I could even get a job. I love our home, but…” he shrugs a little, “it might be nice to get out of the house. Plus, I feel bad that you-“

“Peter,” Beck silences him with a fond look, “How many times do we have to go over this? It’s nothing to feel bad about. We didn’t need two salaries, and you were the one who made dinner and kept the house clean, you also did some writing and painting- you’re perfect.”

The tidal wave of pleasure at the praise seeps into his skin, but isn’t quite enough to distract him. “I just feel…” Peter looks up at the sky and sighs. “Like maybe there’s something I should be doing.”

If he closes his eyes are drifts for long enough he can remember steel tables and copper wires.

Beck doesn’t say anything until they get back to the sand, leaning down to offer his hand to help Peter up, he pulls him close to his body, and Peter flushes as he watches the droplets slide down Beck’s torso. It’s…weird, to be so attracted to someone he doesn’t know- someone he’s slept with, is married to- but doesn’t really know. It makes him feel shy and a little on edge and-

Beck kisses his forehead. “If you want to get a job, baby, I support you. Anything you want to do, okay? But one step at a time.”

That’s fair, Peter concedes, as they head back to where they’re set out. The beach is a little private cove, they’re surrounded by tall cliff face until it joins the sea- which is endless as it looks out till the horizon.

It’s beautiful.

“It’s a few hours drive back, right?” Peter asks, as they start packing their stuff up.

“Yeah,” Beck nods, and Peter smiles-

“I want to get to know you again.” He says, “all the little things. Your favourite food, your favourite movie- I want to know who my husband is.”

Beck shakes his head fondly. “I love you, baby.” He says, and Peter smiles.

**

  
Peter doesn’t snore.

He makes the tiniest sound of breathing; his chest rises and falls, and he’s just as beautiful in sleep as he is when he’s awake. Just as graceful, just as serene.

Beck waits until it hits 2 am before he slips out of bed. He smiles as he thinks of the day and heads down the stairs. Slipping the sleeping pills into Peter’s breakfast had been easy, his boy is so trusting, and then- oh how Peter had surprised him again.

Beck had felt so- in the spotlight. The centre of attention. The object of Peter’s beautiful gaze. It’s all he’s wanted for so long. Peter had swivelled in the passenger seat, staring at Beck’s face, question after question pouring out.

And Beck had answered everything as honestly as he could. That he liked the colour brown because it was the colour of Peter’s warm eyes, that he liked Tron Legacy and trashy reality tv shows. That he didn’t like his eggs runny or the sound of rain on glass.

He’d talked for hours, and Peter had listened attentively to every word. Hanging on each sentence as if it were gospel.

He’s been in love with Peter for so long. Been learning everything about him, been categorising it all and now finally it’s the other way round. Peter wants to know about _him_ , wants to hear about _him_ , it’s beautiful.

He walks into the kitchen and doesn’t turn on the light. Just paces for a while.

The therapist thing: that’s a problem.

The serum is going to start wearing off soon- though Beck doesn’t know if Peter will get his memories back or if the serum wiped them for good. The human brain is too tricky to read. But Peter hasn’t had that many memories- or at least, any that he’s shared- Beck frowns at that. But no, no, Peter trusts him. Peter would tell him, he’s sure of it.

He’ll need to give him another dose, but that would mean starting from scratch all over again. To a Peter who didn’t know anything- who Beck was or what had happened. He’d be a blank slate like he was a week ago.

Beck doesn’t _mind_ starting again, except that he likes where they are now. It’s better than he ever thought it would be. Peter initiates sex, kisses him, laughs with him. Snuggles into his side, looks to him for protection. They’re…it’s like they’re really married. Like it should have always been.

The hospital, the therapist…Beck isn’t quite sure how to handle it. He can buy himself a few days, maybe, but Peter will keep asking.

There’s always hiring an actress- someone who would know better than to let anything spill- it’ll be impossible to find someone who hasn’t seen Peter’s face plastered all over the news. Alongside Tony’s.

He’ll have to look into it. Either that or use the serum, and he doesn’t want to.

“Fuck!” He growls, slamming his hand down onto the counter. He won’t lose Peter. Not a Peter who loves him so much. He’ll have to get an actress. Someone he can trust- or better, blackmail.

***  
Peter doesn’t move when Beck slips out of bed.

Doesn’t move when he hears him swear downstairs.

Instead he lies there, and feels the dread coil in his stomach. He can’t keep pushing it away. Something’s _wrong_.

He’d listened for hours to all of Beck’s answers and none of them sat right.

He’s sure- well, not _sure_ , but at least he _thinks_ \- that his husband likes old movies. Stuff like _Some Like it Hot_ and black and white cowboy films. He thinks his husband likes the colour blue- because life goes on whether your heart beats or not-he thought his husband didn’t eat eggs unless in omelette form, and that he never watched tv because he never really had the time.

And all the things Beck said, they don’t quite- it doesn’t fit as well as it did a week ago.

But he must be wrong. He has to be wrong because if Beck isn’t his husband, then-

But that’s ludicrous. Because Beck clearly loves him so much.

But the blur he sees in his dreams- in the memories that come unbidden- Peter can’t see the face, but…

He doesn’t think it’s Beck’s.

He stirs when Beck slips back into bed, and he doesn’t know a lot but he knows one thing: it’s better to keep playing this role. Pretending that everything’s fine for as long as he can.

So, he stirs, and Beck shushes him softly.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, “just went to get some water.”

“Water,” Peter agrees in a sleepy voice, not calling him out on the lie, and he shuffles cross the bed. Beck gets the hint, and wraps him up in his arms; hands low and possessive on Peter’s waist.

Beck falls asleep quickly.

Peter stays up and thinks.

 _Strange_ isn’t much to go on, but it’s all he has.

***

  
The company want her to step up as temporary CEO but Pepper can hardly think about that.

All she can think about is Tony and Peter.

It can’t be real- the penthouse is being rebuilt, she’s spared no expensive and it’s moving along quickly. The rest of the building is sound but operations have been moved temporarily to another New York sky rise that they’re renting.

But she can’t be CEO. It would be admitting that Tony isn’t- that they’re not coming back, and they _are_ \- he can’t be dead. They hadn’t found a body, so-

“ _Pepper_.” Comes a wrecked voice, and she turns with a frightened gasp to see the one and only Tony Stark in a crumbling Iron Man suit hovering outside the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments blow me away! Sorry there wasn't much meat to this chapter, the next two make up for it, I promise xx


	5. But I Don't Feel Tired

By the time Peter manages to get into the kitchen, there’s a waffle the size of his head waiting on a plate for him at the table. It’s cut into a heart and almost drowning in maple syrup, and his stomach rumbles without permission.

Beck looks up from where he’s slicing bananas- and to Peter’s relief, he’s dressed to go out. In a burgundy button up and dark wash pants. It suits him ridiculously well. “You’re awake,” Beck beams, checking his watch as he comes over to help Peter to the table.

Peter exaggerates his limp. Just a little. The waffle smells amazing, and he sits down, looking up just as Beck leans down- kissing him on the lips.

Beck always deepens their kisses. Like he can’t get enough of Peter once they start to touch. A part of Peter- a part that grows a little bigger every day- wants to pull away, but he knows to play along. Besides, kissing Beck is not a hardship. The brush of his beard, and the warm force of his lips- the way his hands slide through Peter’s hair; it’s enough to have him moaning a little, before Beck pulls away chuckling.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I’m running late. The office called and they need my help on a case. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Say hi to people from me!” Peter asks, reaching for his fork. He’s surprised by Beck’s lips on the back of his neck; the sensation making him tingle all over. He looks around in surprise, but Beck just kisses him again.

“You’re such an angel, Peter,” he whispers gruffly, and Peter blushes, shooing him away.

“Go save them. I wanna watch some old movies. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

It’s that last sentence that makes Beck smile. Warm and sated. Peter watches as he grabs his coat and slides it on. It’s windy outside today, and the branches of the trees dance wildly in the air outside the window. “Eat your waffles, Peter Beck. You need your energy.”

Peter nods, but sits at the table until he hears the front door shut, and then the hum of the car, and he doesn’t move until it rolls away.

He’s about to tuck into breakfast- when the phone rings.

He gets to his feet easily, rushing to the hallway, and plucking the receiver off the wall. “Hello?” He asks.

_“Hi, is this Mr Toomes? We’re calling regarding your daughter’s absence. As you know, Elizabeth hasn’t been to school in over a week and a few of her teachers are starting to worry that-“_

Peter frowns, that same horrible, cold dread welling up in his stomach. “Uh, no this is- I think you have the wrong number.”

Even as he says it, he doesn’t believe it. There’s the sound of rustling paper on the other side of the line. _“Our apologies. Is this not 331 Reda Lane?”_

“Uh…” Peter frowns, embarrassment flushing through him. “I don’t actually know the address- let me just check!”

 _“You don’t know you’re address?_ ” comes the incredulous voice of the receptionist.

“I uh- just moved here.” He says, “hold on a sec.”

He’s sure Beck told him the address when they first came here. But he’d been given so much new information in such a short span of time- a whole lifetime that he’d forgotten- that the address escapes him. He slips on some shoes and heads for the front door.

It doesn’t open.

He swallows hard, praying he’s wrong, and tries it again.

The huge, solid oak door doesn’t budge.

It’s locked. It’s been locked from the outside- by why would Beck…? It could have been an accident, Peter reasons. He turns and heads for the window. It opens easily, and he feels relief flood his system. He’s not trapped in here. He’s being paranoid. He slips out easily, and wraps his arms around himself as the wind whips at his pyjamas.

The sun is hidden behind grey clouds and everything is lit with an eerie white light as he rushes to the front of the property. The last time he was out here he was in a wheelchair being pushed by his husband. The postbox is where he remembers it, and painted on the side is _The Becks._

And underneath: _331 Reda Lane._

Peter frowns. This is the second phone call- maybe the Toomes family lived here recently?

But the daughter hasn’t been at school for a week, Peter’s been here for a week- it can’t be a coincidence?

His knees give out, and he falls onto the gravel. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. How did he ever think this place was beautiful? It all looks so sinister. The trees are glaring down at him as they sway from side to side, and the grass flutters like a restless ocean- shimmering all around him.

The cabin: huge, looming and made of wood, had looked so sturdy.

Now it looks perfect for keeping someone in.

Is that person him?

The wind scratches against the postbox, and the corner of it seems to give way, furling upwards like paper.

Peter stares at it uncomprehendingly for a long moment. Before he reaches up with shaking fingers, tugging just a littles.

He sees an _S_. A little more reveals an _EM_.

He stops peeling.

It’s going to spell _Toomes_. He sticks it back down easily enough, trying to breathe.

How deep does this go? Is this just a misunderstanding? Maybe they moved in after the Toomes family. Maybe the school has it wrong. Maybe Beck accidentally locked him in- and maybe Peter’s mind is just playing tricks on him. Maybe there’s an honest explanation for all of it. He wants to believe it. Desperately.

An owl hoots from somewhere, and it jolts him forward.

He remembers the school are still on the line waiting for him.

He clambers back inside, in through the window, and shuts it firmly behind him.

It’s to keep the wind out, he tells himself. Even though he knows. He knows he doesn’t want Beck to know he went outside. He rushes back to the phone, and to his relief, the receptionist is still on the line.

“This is- the right address. I don’t- I don’t know-“ he says breathlessly.

_“It might be a mistake on our files. I’m sorry to bother you, thank you for check-“_

“Wait! No, I-“ Peter chokes a little, wringing his fingers into the phone line. “I don’t understand. Which- which school is it? What town is this? What city?”

“ _Sir_?”

“I just- I’m-“ Peter rests his head against the wall and chokes on a sob. The memories- the horrible memories- they’re flickering in his brain like a dimly lit lightbulb all covered with dirt.

*  
 _“Will you get me a juice box?” Peter asks sweetly, snuggling further into their pillow fort and turning more towards the television._

_Tony gives him a fond look. “A juice box? Am I dating a child?”_

_Peter sticks his tongue out._

_Tony laughs, but gets up. He heads to the fridge and pulls out some apple juice- that’s Peter’s favourite, and when he gets back- he drops it onto the floor._

_Peter’s there, kneeling, a ring box in his hands. He’s surrounded by the pillows from their snugglefest- the TV still playing Some Like it Hot._

_Tony stares._

_Peter stares._

_Peter giggles, and a tear slips down his cheek. “Hi,” he whispers. He looks tiny and perfect and-_

_Tony falls to his knees in front of him. “Hi.” He repeats; awestruck._

_“Um, I had a whole speech planned.” Peter insists, sniffling, “but I just- really love you? Is that cool?”_

_“Cool,” Tony echoes, smiling so hard he thinks he might sprain something. “That’s very cool. Kinda groovy. I love you too, you know that? You’re trying to make an honest man out of me.” But he’s shaking as he reaches for the ring._

_So, Peter takes his hand to steady it, and slides it on slowly._

_Tony stares at the glinting gold, before hauling Peter into his arms. “Yes.” He vows, “even though you never actually asked.”_

_“Ass.” Peter giggles around tears of joy._

_The apple juice stains but they don’t get it cleaned for a long time. They like the reminder._

*  
When Peter resurfaces, everything’s already fading.

But one thing remains: _Tony_. He doesn’t have a face, but the name makes everything feel warm. He feels safer than he has the whole time he’s been awake. Ever since he left the hospital. Tony. He knew someone named Tony. The name makes him happy- makes him feel strong.

He realises that the person on the phone has hung up, and he’s listening to the dialling tone, so he sets it down and heads to Beck’s study.

There’s a laptop on the desk, and he pushes it open.

It’s password protected. _Obviously_ , Peter thinks.

On a whim, he tries his name: _Peter_.

Nothing.

But a hint does pop up. It’s one word, and it sends his nerves crawling.

 _Yours_. Says the hint.

He hopes he’s wrong as he types: _Peter Beck._

It loads up.

Jesus. How deep is he?

There’s no internet connection. Peter curses under his breath. He’d wanted to google _Tony Strange_ to see if anything came up- but it would have been a long shot anyway. Instead, he goes through Beck’s files.

There’s nothing there.

Some furniture and clothing websites saved into favourites, a few documents called _M1 Prototype_ that won’t load correctly. Almost as if the file’s been corrupted. Peter frowns, digging deeper. The computer is relatively new, but the oldest document he can find is from about a year ago. It’s called _Nanotech Proposal 2._

For some reason, it nags.

Peter clicks on it, and is presented with a document over ten thousand words long about nano technology.

For some reason- Peter knows what that is. He scans over the hypothesis and the contents and he- recognises the terminology.

Why does he know this?

He scrolls, almost frantically- before his eyes catch on a phrase.

“The nanotechnology could take Stark Industries to the forefront of technological innovation; easing the way for space missions and pollution clean up…” he reads under his breath.

_Stark Industries._

St- Stark.

Tony. Strange. Stark.

Tony Stark.

 _Tony Stark_ , that sounds right. Peter’s fingers tremble with the knowledge he doesn’t understand. _Strange_ is another piece. The nanotech is another piece.

Tony Stark is the owner of Stark Industries but what does- what does that mean? Why would he remember that name? Did he work there at one point? But he- he was a lawyer- or at least- that’s what Beck told him.

Lies. It’s all just lies. He slams the laptop down, stomach rolling, and he races for the bathroom. He just manages to get there in time- retching into the bowl as tears start to stream down his cheeks. _Tony Stark._ It’s important. He can’t forget it.

*

It takes a lot of reconstruction and the fixing of destroyed algorithms, before Tony’s able to get the security feed of that night to display.

When he does, and it glows up with that night- he can hardly bear watching it. Instead, he turns his face to the side; stares out of the window. All the furniture’s gone- the damage being repaired- but his tech is still here.

Stephen is watching with narrowed eyes- unflinching- even as Tony sees himself reach for the gun in his peripheral. Even though the sound is muted, he swears he can still hear Peter’s scream. Can see the way Peter tried to protect him, even though Tony was the one with the suit.

“It’s him.” Stephen says sharply, and Tony looks up desperately. Pepper hovers worriedly in the doorway- a silhouette of gold light. “His name’s Quintin Beck. He used to work for you: the nanotech department.” He brings up a photo.

Tony recognises him from that night, but doesn’t _recognise_ him. “But- why would he-?”

“Tell him, Stephen.” Pepper urges softly.

Tony stares at his friend.

Stephen is a blunt person. Always has been. Calculatingly, but brilliantly straightforward. He can see through people’s lies. See where it hurts, and he has no trouble pressing. It had been annoying as hell at first, but now…Tony’s glad Stephen’s here.

“I think Beck was obsessed with Peter. He used to follow him around- wait for him each evening to ride down in the elevator together.”

Tony feels sick: anger and worry war together inside him. “For how long?” He bites out.

“A few years, as far as I can tell. I think when you promoted Peter it started to get worse.”

“Why didn’t you- you _knew_ \- why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Say what?” Stephen replies calmly, even as Tony shrugs Pepper’s gentle touch from his shoulder. “At the time I merely thought he was someone with a crush. Peter seemed in total control. I couldn’t see that he was unhinged. I’m perceptive, Anthony, but I’m not a mindreader.”

“For _years_.” Tony repeats brokenly, falling onto his stool. He can hardly see. Some employee, some employee who _he’d_ hired- who’d worked with Peter-

but wait.

“Wait,” Tony gasps out, “that means- Peter knows him. Knows who’s kidnapped him. Peter’s- he’s smart, smart as whip, he’ll be able to- he’ll know what to do. The right things to say. He’ll be okay- he’s okay-“

“Yes, absolutely,” Pepper promises immediately, but Tony turns to Stephen.

The taller man nods. “I believe so. It gives Peter an advantage. And by watching this footage- Beck only really displays violence towards you. Towards the end he carries Peter almost- tenderly.”

“Where is he?” Tony growls, already stalking towards one of his spare suits. “Why can’t we track him down? I’m gonna kill him.”

“I haven’t been able to trace him.” Stephen admits unhappily. “His last known address is abandoned and he’s completely off the grid. I’ve been reaching out to a few contacts- I have an appointment with a police chief tomorrow in Vermont, but we should spread out, see what we can pick up.”

Tony wants to weep. It all feels so hopeless-

“Anthony,” Stephen says softly, touching his arm. “Eat. Drink something. Heal. Peter will need you at your strongest. We’ll find him- his face is everywhere. Yours is too, as a matter of fact. It’s best we don’t tell anyone you’ve returned. Have an edge of surprise on Beck.”

Tony nods, but food tastes like mulch and water barely manages to wash it down.

He wants to reach for the liquor, but he sees Peter at his side, shaking his head, so he doesn’t.

He just clutches his wedding ring and vows to find him.

*  
On the drive to the police station, Beck can’t stop fidgeting. His palms are sweaty and he has to keep taking long, deep breaths.

It’s fine. It’s probably fine. They hadn’t asked for Peter, only him, so it’s nothing. Probably nothing. It’s nothing to worry about.

And even if it is, he can deal with it. Vermont can’t have a particularly capable police department stretched out over all this woodland.

Besides, the waffle he gave Peter this morning had been laced with sleeping pills. His boy will be asleep on the couch, curled up to some old movie when he gets home.

The thought makes him smile.

He can get through anything with Peter at his side.

Worst comes to worst, he’ll have to give Peter another dose and relocate them. Finding a suitable place won’t be a problem- getting rid of the inhabitants could be a little tricky, but Beck’s dealt with worse.

There’s a fancy black car parked at the station when Beck pulls up and he frowns at it. Some people, fucking parading around their wealth.

He heads inside, and takes a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are just...you are the nicest fandom ever and I love you .


	6. I Feel a little Hungry

******TW:** **moving to dubcon because Peter consents to receiving oral sex more so for his own survival than out of desire, so just watch out beauties!**

**6.**

Peter tidies everything away.

He doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore, so he throws the waffle in the trash. Cleans up as best he can. Then he does exactly what he told Beck he’d do. He heads into the den and puts on an old movie- he picks it off the shelf at random, doesn’t even read the title before he slips it in. Then he turns off all the lights bar one lamp, shuts the curtains, makes it warm and cosy. He makes it look safe and uninviting.

All the things he doesn’t feel.

There’s a pretty, patchwork blanket folded neatly on the couch, and he wraps himself up in it and lies down. ( _Is this their blanket? Did he and Beck buy this together? Did Beck buy this for him? Did this blanket belong to someone else? Someone who lived here once? To a family?)_

It takes a tremendous amount of effort not to cry.

He has to just wait. Wait for his opportunity to strike. He just has to remember _Tony Stark, Stark Industries_ , and _Strange_. He has to remember _Italian_. And a _beard_. And _dark hair_ and _dark eyes_. And something _blue_ and _glowing_. Something that really does make him feel safe and warm.

Audrey Hepburn starts to sing and Peter thinks of the blue glow and he falls asleep.

*

_Tony swallows thickly, hands on Peter’s thighs as his fiancé straddles him. He watches as Peter dips his fingers back into the cream, before rubbing it gently into all of Tony’s scars. He knows what they look like. Horrific spider webs of dark brown, coarse, scarred skin spiralling away from where his heart used to be-_

_Peter doesn’t touch him like a wretched thing. He never does._

_“You’re so beautiful,” Peter whispers, even as his fingers trace every line of hurt. Covers it with love and oil, teeming from his fingertips, his gentle touch._

_Tony wants to make a joke, but he can’t find the words. He’s got the most beautiful thing in the world above him, touching him, seeing into him deeper than anyone else ever has before._

_“Whenever I see this,” Peter whispers, touching Tony’s arc-reactor with his fingers, “I feel safe.”_

_“Peter,” Tony manages, catching those delicate wrists in his own. “Peter.”_

_Peter smiles at him, leaning down to kiss the scars on Tony’s chest. It’s a unique sensation- warm lips on scar tissue- one Tony can’t quite describe, but it’s- it’s nice. “I love you, Tony. Every part of you. I get the feeling you’re self-conscious about these, but I love them so much. Just like I love your eyes, and your nose and your…” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively._

_Tony bursts into a fit of laughter, and he kisses Peter’s palm. “I love you, Peter Parker.”_

_“Soon that’ll be Peter Stark.” Peter grins, leaning forward to nuzzle into Tony’s neck._

_Tony feels like he could burst with love. “I can hardly wait.”_

*

He wakes up to thick fingers carding through his curls, and for a second, he feels like he’s in a different place. High up in the clouds, on a huge bed, spread out with the love of his life-

But then his eyes open. It’s dark, but the room is lit with a warm gold from the lamp he turned on. He tries to sit up, blanket falling from his shoulders, but Beck shushes him. He’s crouched by Peter’s head, still dressed, and his eyes look slightly manic.

It makes Peter well up with dread. Something’s happened. Does Beck know he went outside? Does he know he went on his laptop-

“Baby, shh, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He soothes, fingers still brushing through Peter’s hair. Peter lets himself relax a little at Beck’s tone. He doesn’t _sound_ angry. Beck smiles at him, though there’s still distress written into every line of his face. What’s happened then? Something must have happened at work.

If that’s even where he was.

“Are you okay?” Peter mumbles, playing up his fatigue and snuggling into the cushions. He looks up at Beck with big eyes and tries to slow his frantic heartbeat. “You seem stressed.” He reaches out a hand, and touches Beck’s forehead- trying not to shake. He has to act more normal than this.

Beck closes his eyes and leans into the caress for a moment. “Yeah just- work was a drag, you know? This case is- difficult. Some unfriendly faces on the other side of the acquisition. Very confusing all around.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, watching as Beck takes his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist firmly.

“It’s okay, just seeing you here made me feel better.” Beck smiles, “let me make you some dinner, and then I’ll give you a massage, ease some of those injured muscles.”

The thought of Beck touching him doesn’t sit quite right, so Peter tries to find a way to object. “Let me give you a massage, for a change,” he offers, as lightly as he can. Beck looks at him fondly. “You’ve had such a rough day and…”

“That’d be nice, baby,” he murmurs, before scooping Peter up into his arms, blanket and all, and walking them to the kitchen.

It could be romantic, but all Peter can think of is how strong Beck is. The muscles of his arms ripple and he’s incredibly well built. If it came down to a fight- Peter wouldn’t win. But it’s not going to. He’s going to be smart about this. As he watches Beck cook- it’s healthy stuff. Lean meats and fresh vegetables. He’s so considerate it doesn’t make sense for him to be evil, it just doesn’t- he wants to ask about the phone calls.

He wants to see Beck’s reaction to the name Toomes.

But he also knows that could make Beck freak out. It could mean the phone lines get cut and Peter loses his only means of communication. He has to be smart about this. He has to play it just right.

Beck would do anything for Peter- that much is clear. He caters to his every whim without so much as batting an eye. It’s…disconcerting. How could someone so attentive, so thoughtful, so caring and patient- have done anything sinister?

But his memories don’t lie. It’s not Beck who makes him feel safe. And there’s Stark Industries and Tony and Strange to consider. There’s the fact the door was locked, and the wifi wasn’t working and that a girl hadn’t been to school for a week. The covered up name on the postbox-

That’s how this all feels. Everything but Beck seems like a slim, starting to peel, cover up. Pretty on the surface, but- there’s something dark just behind it.

But Beck, he’s so nice- he’s so- he’s handsome and put together and-

But, Peter supposes, evil comes in all shapes and sizes.

He scoffs to himself, watching as Beck seasons the steak with black pepper and salt, Beck’s not _evil_. An evil person wouldn’t take care of him so lovingly, wouldn’t dote on him so-

But the fact stands. Beck would do anything for him. Peter just needs to find a way to keep Beck out of the house for a while. He needs time to explore, to search, to _think_. He can always think better when Beck isn’t here. It’s like everything’s cloudy and hazy and-

“Do I like fish?” Peter blurts out, and Beck looks up from where he’s dicing potatoes. It’s so completely domestic that Peter feels horrible for a moment. What if he’s blown this whole thing out of proportion? What if-

“Yeah, you do. You used to bring these little sushi packets to work- all the cheap stuff, before you got a taste for-“ Beck cuts off, and Peter pretends not to notice the slip.

A taste for what? More expensive fish? Why would he suddenly have- “Do we have any? Maybe tomorrow I could try making it for dinner. Google a few recipes?”

Beck stiffens almost imperceptibly, Peter probably wouldn’t even have noticed it unless he was looking. But he is. Beck doesn’t want him to have internet access. “I’ll buy us some fish tomorrow from town. We can cook it together, I have a few cook books in the study. That could be fun.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, injecting some enthusiasm into his voice. “Maybe we could make sushi and eat it off each other.”

That does the trick. Beck breaks into laughter, and the nervousness in his eyes dissipates in the wake of what looks like genuine joy. It’s enough to make Peter feel guilty. “You are a minx, Peter Beck. Now, do you want it rare?”

“Well done,” Peter replies, and looks away: shouldn’t his husband know how he likes his steak? They’ve been married for three years, after all. Or is he expecting too much? Maybe husbands don’t know that sort of stuff about each other- “Tell me again,” Peter insists, as Beck plates everything up. “How you proposed.”

Beck chuckles, and sets the food down. Peter comes to join him at the table.

He’s heard this story so many times this week. It’s perfect. It’s romantic. It’s beautiful. But it doesn’t feel _right_.

But does that mean Beck’s making all of this up? But why would he…

*

  
If Beck thinks about it hard enough, _imagines_ it hard enough, he can see it. He’s told it to Peter so many times, it’s practically true. It _is_ true. It’s exactly how he would have done it-

_“You’re so handsome,” Peter giggles, sipping his wine. Beck rolls his eyes, and gestures for the waitress to bring dessert._

_“And you’re drunk.”_

_Peter pouts, his lush bottom lip shining with red wine, and Beck wants to reach over and kiss him, so he does. When the waitress arrives, she’s carrying two plates with a thick wedge of chocolate gateaux on each one. When she sets them down, Peter gasps with pleasure. “Beck!” He exclaims quietly, “my favourite!”_

_Beck grins, shooing the waitress away with a flick of his fingers, and watching as Peter greedily reaches for his fork. It is his favourite. He had the chef make it special. Chocolate gateaux with white chocolate frosting and little snowflakes of sugarcane- peppermint flavoured- decorating the outside._

_Peter used to talk about it in the elevator down._

Tony had introduced it to him when they were in Paris.

_Beck winces. No- no that doesn’t work in this memory. He tries to push the intrusive knowledge out of his mind. Beck showed it to Peter, when he took him to Italy. Yeah, that fits nicely. He likes that._

_And then he watches- a smile on his face- as Peter slices through it with his fork, and hits metal._

_That’s his cue. He gets down on one knee and-_

“Did you have time to call the hospital about a therapist?” Peter murmurs, as he bundles under the blankets in their bed.

Beck curses. Jesus, that’s the last thing he needs. Not the mention that fucking Sheriff in the police station- that fucking dick. He’d talked to Beck like he was some common _man._ Accusing him of drunk driving and collisions on roads he’d never even heard of-

“S’okay if you didn’t,” Peter reassures, and Beck feels bad. Peter’s so sweet, he just wants to get better.

Beck turns onto his side, and watches as Peter comes nearer. He’s in one of the silk sets Beck had bought- a scarlet and shiny button up shirt, with frilly little shorts. He’d all sorts of clothes already saved to his laptop. The sorts of things he’d dreamt about seeing Peter in. And now Peter wears them all the time, and he doesn’t even know that he’s Beck’s waking dream. “It’s been such a hectic day, baby,” he murmurs, reaching out to slide his hand up the back of Peter’s nice shirt, just touching all that satin skin.

Peter shivers against him, and Beck smirks, nosing at his lover’s temple.

“You want daddy, baby?” He purrs, teeth finding Peter’s collar. Goddamn, this is unreal-

Peter’s soft hands come to Beck’s jaw, and tip his chin upwards. “Kiss me?” He asks sweetly, and Beck would never deny him.

He surges up to press their lips together, and Peter moans against him, lips parting easily- and Beck _takes_. He moves to slide his leg between Peter’s lily-white thighs but-

“My leg hurts,” Peter pants, sounding apologetic and small. “‘m sorry, maybe I could suck y-“

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Beck murmurs, immediately pulling back and making sure Peter’s leg has the space is needs. He’s being selfish. Peter’s already worked into all his sore muscles and now-How could he forget? Peter’s so delicate, and Beck had-

*

_“Beck! For god’s sake! Stop! Please!” Peter screams, tears streaming down his cheeks as Beck pins Tony to the wall. Alarms are blaring all around them, but still, Beck turns for Peter- hand at Tony’s throat- Peter’s a vision. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, unfortunately it belongs to Stark, but Beck ignores that. He’s so fucking pretty._

_“Pe’er,” Tony mumbles, eyes half-lidded, blood pouring down his face._

_“Please,” Peter sobs, falling to his knees, and it’s so delicious a sight, that Beck’s breath catches in his throat. “Please don’t hurt him, Beck, please, please.” His hands are clasped in front of him, like he’s praying to a God. Pleading with a deity. It makes Beck feel powerful._

_He’d dropped Stark, stalking over to wrap the trembling thing in his arms, and when he gets there, he sees a bit of shattered glass glinting in his peripheral._

_He sees the great Iron Man, crawling over to a gun._

_“That.” Beck’s snarls, whirling around furiously, “is a mistake.”_

_And he detonates the bomb._

_The sound is ear-ringing, and red and gold armour is hidden underneath crumbling concrete. Not enough, Beck knows. He’ll have to kill Tony-_

_“Leave him alone!” Peter screams, launching at him. Beck grabs his forearms easily, shaking his head._

_“Peter, don’t get involved. It’ll all be right soon-“_

_“Stop it!” Peter cries, kicking and scratching, spitting in Beck’s face. Beck sighs, pushing him aside as gently as he can, as he marches over to the rubble._

_He can hear the creak of metal as Tony tries to emerge._

_Beck reaches down and picks up the discarded gun, and waits until Tony has revealed his face from all the fallen stone, when-_

_He’s knocked sharply to the side- he grunts as he lands on the floor, Peter scrambling off of him and helping uncover Tony- who gets his propulsters up. He’s unconcious though- ha! He’s dead!- Peter starts messing with the controls of the suit and it launches into the sky- out through the ceiling, carrying Tony with it-_

_Beck lunges- he wants to see Stark’s cold, dead, face-_

_But Peter swings wildly and Beck is so fucking angry- angry that Peter’s resisting this hard, that he hurls him clear across the room- and freezes when that tiny body collides with a sharp smack into the wall._

_The Ironman Suit deploys with Tony in it, carrying his corpse off somewhere, but Beck can hardly breathe. He can’t see anything but Peter’s still, lifeless form._

_“No,” Beck gasps, sprinting over. “No, no! Peter- Peter-“ he collapses by the body, tears already pouring down his face as he turns the boy over, hand cradling his head. “Peter- Peter, no-“ he sobs, there’s blood everywhere- what has he done-_

_Peter lets out a little groan then, nothing more than a sound, and Beck’s heart soars- he reaches for the vial, and jabs it into the boy’s neck._

*  
“You get your rest,” Beck murmurs, pushing until Peter’s lying on his back, “let daddy take care of you.”

He moves down the bed, nestling between Peter’s legs, and spreads them wider. Peter’s trembling above him and Beck presses a small kiss to the inside of Peter’s thigh, and lets his palm skate over the bulge in those tight little shorts. “You don’t have to-“ Peter gasps, even as Beck tugs his pants down.

“I want to,” Beck chuckles, shaking his head. It figures Peter would be unused to this attention. Stark was no doubt a selfish lover- but Beck won’t be. He’ll treat Peter right. He _is_ treating Peter right.

Peter’s cock is small and perfect, not meant for fucking, obviously. More for decoration, it’s so pretty. The perfect mouthful, and Peter jackknives off the bed as Beck takes him in all the way, no preamble. He can feel Peter twitching in his mouth, hear him gasping above him- back arching on the bed, and he feels so goddamn smug.

He could do this forever. Draw these noises out-

“Beck,” Peter cries, hips bucking desperately, his fingers finding their way into Beck’s hair. “Beck, I-I’m-“

Beck smirks around his mouthful. Peter’s so sensitive, he can hardly hold out for a good blow job. Not that he minds, of course. Though he would like to spend as long as possible worshipping his boy. So he pulls off, because he doesn’t want their fun to end, and Peter let’s out a disappointed whimper.

Beck looks up at him, at that gorgeous body, to see Peter’s eyes screwed shut, curls spilling out onto the pillow, and mouth parted in a soundless gasp of pleasure. “Not so fast, baby,” he teases as Peter pants, “c’mon, beg daddy for it.”

Peter wails at that, dick spurting precum all over his taut belly. “D-daddy,” he pleads obediently, “daddy please, I wanna- lemmie cum, _please_ -“

Beck groans, Peter’s begging going straight to his own cock. He takes the boy’s sensitive head back into his mouth and sucks hard, and Peter cums immediately, whole body tensing, before he relaxes into the mattress- soft and pliable.

Just how Beck likes him.

Peter falls asleep quickly, but Beck just keeps thinking about the police station. It was probably nothing, he assures himself, cuddling Peter into his chest. A weird coincidence they’d brought him in over some drunk driving thing. He didn’t do it, but he doesn’t like the extra scrutiny. Regardless, they’d let him leave, and he’s with Peter and-

everything’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dundundun! Why wasn't Strange at the police station? Or...was he? Find out tomorrow! 
> 
> Your comments are just so amazing, I love you!


	7. I Feel like I'm at the end of my Tether

**7.**

Strange hasn’t been to this town for a long time.

The drive up is very distantly familiar. He thinks that perhaps his family took him here once for a holiday when he was a young boy. But if he was then as he is now, which he no doubt was and is, he spent the whole car ride with his nose buried in a book. Now though, he looks around. The town is buried deep in the woods, as is everything in this part of the country, but when he gets there it’s a modern sort of place. Nice. Decent.

As is the Sheriff’s station. He parks his car- the shiniest thing in the dusty parking lot- and strolls inside.

The Sheriff greets him with a tired, but accommodating smile. “Mr Strange, we spoke on the phone.”

Stephen nods, and doesn’t correct him to _Doctor_ because he wants to play nice. He follows the Sheriff past a number of seated deputies and one drunk woman, to a room in the back. Once there, he clears his throat. “You said you found someone matching the photo I sent?”

“Yeah, I asked around, showed it to a few of the locals- saw someone matchin’ the description. Ran the license plate of the car he was drivin’, I called him in for ya.”

Stephen straightens slightly. “You called him in?”

“Yeah, it’s uh…” he leafs through a few documents, “Quinten Beck.”

 _Shit_. Stephen thinks. He hadn’t expected a match so fast, and he hadn’t actually asked the police department to reach out and contact him. What if it makes him lose control? What if he hurts Peter? Rather then get angry, he tries to take control of the situation. “When will we be here?” He demands.

“Around 11,” the Sheriff says, scratching his chin, “want some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Stephen says: thinking. Quintin will be here in ten minutes approximately. He has Peter somewhere, no doubt, but Stephen can’t alert him to that. Can’t let him know he knows. He just has to follow him. If only he hadn’t driven something so ostentatious.

But of course, Stark is always prepared. He fingers the magnetic GPS tracker in his pocket and hums.

“Sheriff,” he murmurs politely, as the man sits back down with his coffee. “I need you to do me a favour and question Mr Beck over a collision rather than a missing person’s.”

The Sheriff looks bemused, and he takes a deep sip from his stained mug. “But I thought this was ‘bout that- missin’ boy-“

“Yes, and if he realises we’re already onto him, he’ll kill Peter, and you’ll feel the wrath of Stark Industries on your entire workforce. Question him about a crash, and while you do that- keep my name out of it- I’ll be putting a tracker on his car.”

The Sheriff looks pale. “You got a warrant to do that, son?”

Stephen stands. He needs to be out of sight before Quintin gets here. Besides, the phrase _Stark Industries_ has done its job like it always does. The Sheriff looks much more accommodating. Most people are when they realise the wrath of Iron Man is on the line. “Try not to ring any alarm bells, you’ve been immensely helpful. We want him spooked, not manic.”

Stephen goes out the back, and as soon as Beck heads inside (it’s odd, seeing him again. Stephen doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for Quintin to look so… _normal_ ), he places the tracker and then gets back into his car.

He’s calling Tony before he’s even out of the parking lot.

“Tony.” He says, uncaring about pleasantries, “I found Quintin. I’ve put a tracker on his car, the PD will work with us. You need to get down here.”

He doesn’t get a verbal answer, just the whirring of an Iron Man suit.

*  
Very early in the morning, the clouds move across the sunrise, and a stream of red light breaks through the sky.

Peter mumbles in protest, snuggling back into the cushions. But then Beck makes a sleepy sound, and Peter remembers he’s curled up with someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he doesn’t trust. He tries in vain to go back to sleep, but the streak of red is relentless as it permeates his closed eyelids.

There’s a creak from downstairs that makes Peter stiffen.

Beck stiffens too.

Oh god, is that- _help_? He doesn’t move, doesn’t want to raise his hopes- doesn’t want Beck to react badly.

“Did you hear anything?” Beck murmurs, his voice going for soothing, but coming across as interrogatory.

“No,” Peter lies drowsily, closing his eyes and yawning into his pillow. “Probably jus’ the wind,”

He evens out his breathing and pretends to sleep. It’s hard. He can feel his heart jack-rabbiting, trying to burst out of his chest. What could get through that huge, oak door? Beck doesn’t move for a while; he seems to be waiting to make sure Peter is really sleeping. But eventually, he slips out of bed. He moves almost silently, before the door clicks shut, and Peter sits up.

The room is glowing scarlet with the sunrise, and he hurriedly gets out of bed and heads for the door.

It’s locked.

“Of course,” Peter curses under his breath and looks around-

there’s a sudden crash from downstairs. A yell. Peter freezes.

What if it’s not help? What if it’s a real intruder? Why would Beck lock him in? To keep him safe- or to keep him trapped-

Peter rushes towards the balcony doors. They open easily, and he walks out- barefoot- onto the cool wood. There’s no wind, it’s a still morning, and the woods beckon invitingly. The tips of the trees are bleeding crimson.

He looks over the railing. There’s a trail of sturdy-looking ivory, but is he actually going to- is he actually going to run? What if it’s nothing? What if Beck gets angry? It’s now or never, he decides and swings his leg over the edge and scales down roughly. He scrapes his leg on the slide down but barely feels it. His mind is whirring. He’ll just say he thought it was an intruder. That he was running to get help.

But what if he’s running away from help?

He falls the final few feet, but he lands on the soft grass, and scrabbles back to his feet quickly. The woods beckon. But he can hear a clattering inside. He can hear muffled shouts.

He feels like a coward even as he turns and runs for it. His legs strain quickly, unused to the exercise, but he doesn’t stop. He goes past the trails Beck showed him and further into the brambles. The branches and thorns snag at his nightshirt, but he barrels past them. The green gives way to more green, and stones and pebbles and sharp rocks cut into his feet as he runs.

Deeper, deeper in the shadows he runs, until he reaches a part where the grass is still damp with dew- and he slips down a small hillside into some mud.

He closes his eyes, heart thundering, and tries to think. Running blindly through these woods isn’t going to do anything. Beck knows the place better than Peter does. But Peter has a head start. He needs to go in one direction- needs to go _straight_ -

As he tries to settle his breathing, the smell of something rotten fills his nostrils.

He knows what it is even before he looks over the second crest of the hill.

Shallow mud, darker and richer than all the rest, and something horribly white and pale sticking out of it. Flies. Maggots too.

Peter hurriedly slams his hand down over his mouth as he lets out a scream. It’s the Toomes family. He knows it is. He can feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he moves away from them, further down the other side of the slope- into more trees before-

He stands, utterly dazed- the forest just seems to- _stop_. It’s unnatural. It’s wrong. 

There’s- it’s a-

He looks up. The fence goes up impossibly high, all made of smooth wood with no possible way to climb.

What the- is this a-

An enclosure?

Peter can’t get the smell out of his head. He feels like he’s going to hyperventiliate- he takes huge gulpfuls of air through his mouth when-

There’s a loud whirring sound, and down through the trees descends something huge and red and gold.

Peter sobs loudly then. He presses back into the fence and shakes his head in horror. He doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s so scared-

*

_“I can’t, Tony, I can’t.” Peter chokes, tossing clothes into his suitcase. “I can’t stand by and watch you- risk your life over and over and over. I thought you weren’t going to- when that wormhole- when you went through it, I thought you were never coming back, I-“ he holds his hands over his chest. It had felt like dying, watching the love of his life disappear. Felt like getting his heart ripped right out._

_“Don’t go.” Tony begs quietly, standing in the doorway with a desperate expression on his face. “Peter, please, I love you. Don’t go.”_

_“I can’t.” Peter weeps, slamming his suitcase shut and zipping it with clumsy, jerky movements. “I can’t sit back and watch anymore, Tony, I can’t-“_

_“I’ll stop.” Tony urges, and he’s shaking. His arms are shaking, even as they wrap around Peter as he heads for the door. “I’ll give up the suit, I’ll destroy it. I swear, baby, just don’t-“ he presses his lips to Peter’s hair as tears escape. “Just don’t go.”_

_“You can’t promise that,” Peter hiccups, shaking his head. “It’s who you are, I could never ask you to..”_

_“Peter.”_

_“I’m so scared, Tony, I’m so frightened every time you go-“_

*  
“Peter,” comes the sound of a wrecked voice, and out of the metal steps a stranger.

Peter shakes his head. How do these people know his name? Where are the _police_?

“Peter, thank god, you’re okay- you’re okay.” The man chokes out, rushing forward with his arms out- only to stop dead when Peter recoils from him. “Peter,” the man demands gently, “Peter look at me, it’s _me_ , it’s Tony, you’re safe now.”

Peter’s vision is blurry with tears. Tony? Like Tony Stark? Is it really? Peter looks at him- looks hard- but no memories jump to the surface. This could just be another liar. Someone else who’s lying to him- why the _fuck_ is he trapped here? What is this place? He wants to pull his hair out in frustration.

He jumps almost a foot in the air when the man touches him, and he swings out with a clumsy fist, hitting nothing but air. “Don’t touch me!” He screams, whole body trembling. “Don’t touch me, I don’t know- I don’t know who you are but I want- I want the police, I _want_ -“ his voice breaks and he sobs harder. He wants this to be _over_ -

“I’m Tony Stark,” the man whispers, and he sounds completely tortured. But so had Beck, at first. When he’d woken up in the hospital. “I’m your husband, and you’re- you’re Peter Stark- well, Peter Parker, but we got married, and we live together in New York, and you’re 25 years old, and I love you, and everything’s going to be okay now, because I’ve found you.”

Peter Stark? That sounds- maybe? Maybe that sounds right. He’s married to Tony Stark- founder of Stark Industries.

Maybe- _maybe_ , it could be right, but Peter B had looked right too.

“Peter Parker?” He repeats quietly. The man’s backing away from him, and Peter relaxes with every inch he gains. The man’s acting like he’s some endangered animal he doesn’t want to spook. It’s exactly how Peter feels.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” The man nods. He has dark eyes brimming with love and pain. Peter can’t bear to look into them.

Benjamin. That- that fits. Doesn’t it?

“Who’s- who’s the man that- that said he was my husband?” Peter asks, and the dark haired man, who might be Tony, looks furious.

“He said _what_?” But he regains himself quickly, seems to see that the anger makes Peter flinch in on himself. He’s much more perceptive than Beck is, that’s for sure. “That’s Quintin Beck, he used to work with you. For me.”

That…Peter’s eyebrows knot together, he can’t-

*  
 _“Haven’t seen you down here in a while,” Beck grins, nudging Peter with his elbow as the smaller man laughs. “Stark’s been keeping you all to himself.”_

_Peter’s blush shows up even more strongly against the white collar of his lab coat. “We’ve just been working on some space-suits, trying to handle all the messy physics stuff. What about you? How’s the nano-stuff going?”_

_“Pretty boring, if I’m honest. I miss you down here.”_

_“Aww,” Peter grins goofily, nudging Beck right back as they settle at their desks. “I missed you too, Beck. You know, when I was-“_

_The doors slide open, and Peter beams when Tony walks in. He’s carrying a platter of sushi, and he sets it down in front of Peter with a flourish._

_Beck says something under his breath that Peter can’t hear, and he leaves the two of them alone._

_“What’s this?” Peter giggles, even as he reaches for the chopsticks, and preens under Tony’s kisses._

_“Some proper sushi. Only the best for my new boyfriend. I know you’re not meant to eat in here, but I think I can bend the rules for my favourite scientist.”_

_There’s a crash from somewhere in the lab, but Peter has eyes only for Tony. “You spoil me.”_

_“Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He sings, and Peter laughs, holding out some salmon for the older man. Tony takes it with his teeth and a wink, and Peter feels complete._

*  
He’s gasping by the time the memory fades- receding as fast as it came- he struggles to keep the pieces of it together. Was he in a lab coat? Was he with Beck? They _did_ work together, but not as lawyers and-

“How do I like my steak?” Peter asks, on a whim, and Tony blinks at him.

“Uh- well done. You don’t like the blood.”

Peter doesn’t sob, but silent tears keep coming out, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Pete, baby?” Tony asks gently, “can I ask for something?”

Peter sniffs, watching as the red light from the sky shows the little edging greys in Tony’s hair. They look _right_.

“I know you don’t- know who I am, or-or trust that I’m who I say I am, but- from my point of view, I’ve found my husband, and I’ve been- can I just- hold you? Please?”

It’s so fucking loving. How is Peter so loved? What has he done to deserve this sort of compassion from both the men claiming to be his husband- why is he so _cherished_ to the point of madness? He wants to be held, but he doesn’t want to be subdued. Tony, like Beck, is taller and broader. Arms tight with muscle and strength and-

“Here,” Tony says, and he throws something to the grass before Peter’s feet.

He looks down at it through wet lashes. It’s a gun.

“It’s fully loaded, princess. You just- you can hold that while I hug you, if that’s what you need.”

 _Princess_. That feels- that feels so _right_ Peter aches. He wants to trust- wants to trust so badly- but he reaches for the gun and it’s heavy in his hand. It feels real. It takes a few tries to flip the safety off, but then he nods- a little bop of his head, and Tony’s coming over to him, and holding him tight.

Peter practically melts into the embrace. Tony smells of mud and sweat, but his embrace feels right. Peter tucks into him, and he just wants Tony to take care of everything. To keep him safe. To make all the wrongness go away.

But he put that trust in Beck, and look where it’s got him. He can’t trust anyone. Not until he remembers. Not until he knows.

There’s something hard against his cheek, in the middle of Tony’s chest, and he pulls back a fraction to peak at it.

Blue is glowing through Tony’s black shirt.

The older man is reluctant to pull away, his nose buried in Peter’s curls, his hands tight on Peter’s hips.

He’s shaking- his arm is shaking, and Peter doesn’t know how he knows- but he knows to reach out and hold Tony’s wrist, and breathe with him for a second.

“I was so worried,” Tony confesses, like a gut-wrenching pain, “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, I’m so sorry.”

Peter doesn’t speak, just pulls a little further out of the embrace- almost overcome with emotion, and he prods gently at the blue metal under Tony’s shirt. “What’s that?” He whispers. “It looks like something from a…” from a dream.

Tony lifts up his shirt and Peter stares-

it’s not metal, it’s a- like a stone, a blue _glowing_ stone- like the kind that keeps him-

“It keeps me safe.” He whispers, reaching out to touch it, and Tony lets out a sob above him-

“Yeah, that’s right,” he urges, “it’s me, baby, it’s _Tony_.”

Peter shakes his head, even as his eyes glisten with tears. “I can’t…I need…where’s Beck? Where’s-“

On cue, there’s a rustling, before Beck runs into view.

He comes to a halt, amid the branches, and he looks between Tony and Peter with huge, distraught eyes.

There’s blood dripping from his knuckles onto the ground.

“Where’s Strange?” Tony yells, and Peter clutches his head in agony-

*  
 _“‘m really sorry about this,” Peter mumbles with a shy, embarrassed smile, as Stephen bandages his wrist tightly. “I thought I could reach.”_

_The doctor nods. “It’s fine, Peter.”_

_Peter chews on the inside of his mouth; guilt welling up inside him. “But it’s not really fine, is it? I mean, it’s 3 am, and you had to drive all the way over here just because I fell trying to reach some cookies, it’s-“_

_“I came because Tony called, Peter.” Stephen reminds. “It’s no hardship.”_

_Peter nods, looking away. The penthouse is mostly dark, Tony’s in the kitchen making him the tea that Peter had lied about wanting. His boyfriend always needs something to do when Peter’s hurt, or he frets terribly. He wants to be friends with Stephen, but the man is so elusive. It’s hard to draw a smile out of him, and Peter worries that Stephen doesn’t like him. That he just tolerates Peter because of Tony-_

_“Try not to strain yourself too much,” he says, once he’s satisfied, straightening up. “You can put some weight on it, but no strenuous activities. You should heal up just fine.”_

_Peter half smiles. “Thanks,”_

_Stephen packs up his stuff, but he doesn’t head for the door immediately. He lingers, which is unlike him. “Peter,” he begins, voice a little awkward, “you make him very happy, so…I’m not sure how to…but I suppose the burden falls on me. If you hurt him, well…I wouldn’t look upon it favourably.”_

_Peter can’t help the stunned laugh that slips out, but he presses his lips together and nods. “I won’t, Sir.” He teases._

_Stephen gives him a hard look, before he lets out a little smile. It’s only the uplifting of the corners of his mouth, but it fills Peter with hope. “Well then. I’ll see you next time, no doubt, when you have another cookie-related emergency.”_

_Peter throws him a cocky salute. “I look forward to it, Doc.”_

_Stephen hums, like he’s half-pleased with Peter, before he heads for the door._

*  
Peter wobbles the gun up, aiming it between the two men-

“Peter,” Beck cries, “get away from him!”

“You little shit.” Tony snarls, “I’m going to kill you for everything you’ve done to him-“

“Done?” Beck chokes, stumbling away, “what did I do? You’re the one who just broke into our home for confidential files!”

Peter looks between them wildly. “What?” He whispers, “is that true?”

Tony punches Beck in the face and there’s a horrible _crack_ as his nose breaks. Peter screams at him to stop, but Tony doesn’t listen, rearing his arm back again-

“You can do what you want to me,” Beck gurgles through blood, “but please, let my husband go-“

Tony gapes at him, “You _lying_ sack of-“

“Please, stop!” Peter screams, as loud as he can, as dawn breaks and red light pools over the forest. “Please, stop- please don’t hurt him, I…” he watches with relief as Tony backs off, and Beck holds his nose in agony. “Beck, are you- are you okay?”

“I need a hospital,” he groans, eyes looking dizzy, “Peter- you have to run-“

“Stop lying!” Tony yells, running at him again, so Peter fires a warning shot into the red sky.

Everyone’s still, and blissfully silent, and Peter can _think_.

“I need you both to just- not move.” He mutters, still holding the gun steady. At least it works, his mind thinks. Tony wasn’t lying. The adrenaline is making him drip with sweat and it makes his eyes sting. “You’re both- you’re both saying you’re married to me, but I don’t- I don’t _know_ who you are- either one of you- but I know-“ he turns to Beck, “I know you’ve been lying to me. Hiding things from me. Who are the Toomes family, Beck?”

Beck’s eyes wide, just a fraction, but Peter sees it. His stomach curls.

“You killed them,” Peter hisses, “how could you-“

“I did it for you, Peter-“ Beck pleads, on his knees now, blood trickling to the ground. “I did everything for you- I made some mistakes, but I’m your husband-“

“You’re a murderer!” Peter screeches, “are we really married? Or were you- is that a lie?”

“Peter, you don’t need to even ask that,” Beck gasps, “you know we’re married, you know I make you happy- that we have a _connection_ -“

“You’re a delusional piece of garbage.” Tony whispers, voice as cold as ice, “wherever the hell they lock you up, I’m gonna make sure you never make it out.”

“Shut up,” Peter orders, gesturing to Tony with his gun. “What’s your side? What did- what’s your story?” They’re all just stories.

“He worked with you, for SI, and when we started dating, he got jealous- obsessive. Two weeks ago he broke into our penthouse- bombed it- you saved me, Peter, but he got you- he hurt you- did something to your memory, and he brought you here, and I’ve been searching everywhere for you-“

“What the fuck?” Beck whispers into the ground, “I’m a lawyer-“

Liars. They’re all just _liars_ \- Peter wants the _police_ -

“The police are on their way.” Says a voice, and out of the trees emerges a tall man in a sleek black suit. He’s got bruises blossoming all over his left cheek, but Peter doesn’t care, because- because-

“Stephen!” He cries, relief flooding through his system. “I _know_ you- I know you-“ he weeps with joy, holding his arms out, and Stephen crosses the clearing to him, and holds him tight in his arms.

*  
“ _You_ _know why she’s upset, don’t you?” Peter asks, hopping up to perch on Stephen’s desk._

_The Doctor frowns. “No. Do you know?”_

_“It’s because you missed your date night. Again.”_

_Stephen shrugs that off. “Christine knew I had to work, I told her beforehand.”_

_Peter rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean she’s not upset. She wants you to make it up to her. Buy her a coffee from her favourite place, or make her breakfast. Do something thoguhtful, that’s all.”_

_Stephen considers it, before nodding. “Easy enough. Now, you know why Tony’s upset with you, don’t you?”_

_Peter tips his head back, laughing. “Nice try, Stephen. But Tony adores me.”_

_“Ain’t that the truth.” Tony grins, strolling in. Peter makes grabby hands at him and Stephen chuckles._

_“Speak of the devil.”_

_Tony hoists Peter into his arms, and kisses him filthily, and Stephen makes a disgusted face, shooing them both out of his office._

*  
Stephen Strange, he knows Stephen Strange, he knows him, _trusts_ him-

“It’s okay, Peter,” Stephen rumbles, “the Sheriff’s coming, with backup. I called. It’s going to be fine. We can show you evidence- show you Quintin’s personnel file, CCTV footage if you want it. Your marriage certificate to Tony, anything you want, and we’ll get you a private hotel if you need time- the best doctor’s in the country to reverse what was done to you.”

“Aren’t you the best doctor in the country?” Peter teases wetly, heart still pounding with relief.

Stephen looks down at him; love bare on his face. “We’ve missed you, Peter.” He murmurs. Finally, Peter feels hopeful. Finally, he remembers someone. Knows someone. It’s like he’s regained a little part of himself-

There’s a yell, and Peter whirls to see Beck getting to his feet- anger and injustice oozing out of him.

For the first time in his company, Peter feels petrified.

“This is some bullshit, Peter,” Beck says breathlessly, his teeth all stained with blood. “I did everything for you, baby, and now- we’re gonna have to start all over again. I’ll do better next time, I promise you that. We need to leave the country, I think.”

Peter watches as Tony does something to his watch, and then suddenly, his hand is encased in iron, and glowing.

“Keep talking,” Tony hisses, eyes alight with vengeance, “I’m just looking for a reason to burn your face off.”

“Tony. Quintin. The police will be here soon.” Stephen says calmly, even though his hands are tight on Peter’s shoulders. “Hadn’t we best let them handle things?”

Peter can’t stop looking. The crimson light of the sunrise is shining on Beck’s hand; already slippery with blood. His fingers are curled around something- it looks like a-

A grenade.

He watches, as Beck starts pushing himself backward, in apparent fear of Tony’s threat, but in reality- to get some distance- to throw-

Peter shoots at Beck’s legs- once- twice- _three_ times- screaming all the while, ears ringing with the shots, until Beck falls to the ground- and Peter runs over and carefully- as carefully as his fumbling fingers can- pulls the grenade out of his hands.

Beck’s hand leaps to his throat- his hand’s so big, it wraps around Peter’s neck almost completely- he lets out a cry- but Beck’s looking up at him; almost frothing at the mouth. “You never _see_ me, Peter,” he rages, “you’re blinded by him- I make you happy-“

His grip is getting tighter- Peter can feel his face heating up- he scratches as Beck’s hand with his nails, pushes at the mud with his knees-

Hands grab his arms and haul him up, a foot slamming into Beck’s neck, and Peter’s free- gasping in air- and someone’s holding him-

“I’m _never_ ,” Tony chokes, cradling Peter gently, “ _never_ letting you get hurt again.”

Against sense, Peter trusts him

*  
“Eat, Tony.” Stephen urges, gesturing to the mini-fridge in the limo.

But Tony can’t eat. It had been a flurry since the police got there. Peter had believed the Sheriff, but mostly, he’d believed Stephen. Those big brown eyes had been reluctant to land on Tony at all- fear and distrust still apparent. It had cut him up inside. The way Peter kept looking to Stephen after every piece of information was presented. He hadn’t wanted to look at any photos- his head hurt, he’d said.

It’s enough to want to make Tony rip Beck apart. Piece by piece. But the police have him now.

The hospital had put Peter under. Cho had come over, done some work, and had soothed all of Tony’s fears.

Peter would get his memories back, she said with confidence. Which was how she said things she was certain of. He’d recover. It was just a matter of how long.

Tony’s been camped out in the Vermont hospital for a week. They’d kept Peter in a medically indused coma, trying to let his mind detox, as it were, but now, it’s time they take him home.

The journey’s been long, made longer by the fact that Peter’s been asleep for most of it. Exhausted and disorientated, and still missing his memory.

The best place for him was the penthouse, Cho had said. And Pepper has made sure it’ll be waiting for them ready- exactly how it was.

But Tony just _itches_. He wants his husband. Wants to hold him. He’d been uncooperative when the hospital staff tried to treat him, he’d tried redirecting their attention to Peter, but now he has some fresh bandages on his ribs, some pills he has to take.

But now, he just sits on the opposite side of the limo, watching as Peter drools onto Stephen’s lap, where he’s all snuggled up and adorable.

Tony just wants to hold him. Just wants _Peter_.

“Please, Tony.” Stephen insists, “eat something.”

Tony feels a rush of unjustified anger. “Easy for you to say,” he snaps, eyes still on Peter’s gorgeous face, on those beautiful curls, on how tiny and vulnerable he looks-

 _Not that vulnerable,_ his mind corrects. His brilliant boy has saved him twice. Once from being shot in the head, and now from a grenade- isn’t Tony supposed to be the one protecting him?- all he wants is to be the one to comfort his boy- he just wants Peter to reach for him- wants to make it all okay-

“You’re a moron, Tony,” Stephen mutters kindly, “I had a look at Beck’s serum, and you know what it does?”

Tony resists the urge to throw a tantrum. “What does it do?” He mutters moodily.

“It represses your most important memories.” Stephen says, and he’s smiling. “So, if he has forgotten you, it’s only because…”

Tony blinks. “I’m…important? To Peter?”

“Moron.” Stephen confirms fondly, and Tony’s breathes for the first time since they found him.

“He still- loves me, then? He’ll still- want to be- with _me_?”

“Tony,” Stephen rolls his eyes, “he may want to stick with me for now, but I guarantee, he’ll go back to being your little limpet as soon as he remembers.”

Tony can hardly wait.

Still, he can’t help but feel jealous as Peter snuggles into Stephen’s embrace, but at least he manages to eat a sandwich.

It’ll have to do, for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue healing and fluff next chapter!


	8. I want to feel Safe

The first time Peter wakes up, the world is moving.

He blinks, looking around the inside of an enormous car, and spots Tony looking at him, a soft smile on his face. There’s only the occasional tree flying by the window. There’s houses now. Big buildings. Things that make him feel not so alone.

“Hey there,” Tony says softly, getting his attention, “perfect timing. We’re pulling up to a Drive-Thru, do you want something to eat, baby?”

Peter can feel sleep tugging insistently at him, but his stomach rumbles demandingly. He doesn’t know Tony, and even though he knows- he trusts now- that Tony is his husband, he’s a stranger. And Peter doesn’t want to be too trustful of strangers right now. He doesn’t think he’ll be trustful of strangers for a while. How could someone do this to him? How could someone _lie_ like this?

He curls away, distress building quickly- everything’s hazy and dizzy and-

“I’m here, Peter,” says a voice, and he looks up, to see Stephen looking down at him. Peter’s cuddled onto his lap.

“Oh,” Peter breathes, feeling safer already, “‘m hungry.”

Stephen smiles warmly, nodding. “We’ll get you some food.”

The food comes quickly and it tastes outrageously good. Greasy and flavourful, he practically inhales it. Whenever he wants more, it seems to magically appear. He thinks maybe Tony is keeping him in good supply, but he’s too exhausted to check.

And after he’s eaten, he’s sleepy again.

Stephen doesn’t card his fingers through Peter’s hair, instead, he rubs his back, gently across the shoulders. It’s nice. Peter feels like he could drift right off…

“It’s torture,” Tony whispers. “To not be able to comfort him. You can’t know how it feels.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Stephen replies gently, “but it’s only temporary. You know that.”

“I’ve missed him so bad,” Tony says, and Peter thinks Tony’s crying. He wonders if this is a dream.

*

Tony’s moved his lab to the bedroom.

Hauled up his tech and his tables, and he works pretty much round the clock on rebooting JARVIS- unhackable this time, even from the inside- and more security protocols than anyone will know what to do with. Pepper must think he’s going overboard, but she never says anything as she brings him water and asks how Peter’s doing.

They’ve been back for a day, and Peter’s slept for all of it. But Tony finally feels like the fetters around his heart have started to unwind- all the thorns pulling out of his flesh- like he can breathe better, seeing Peter there, in their bed. Where he belongs.

Tony works and works, and keeps Peter in his peripheral.

His princess, sleeping there. Wrapped up in bedsheets, brown curls splayed out on the pillow like a halo.

As the rain patters against the glass, it hits eleven am, Tony adds another line of code, and Peter stirs.

“‘ony,” the boy mumbles, and Tony’s over there in a second.

Peter blinks up at him, and he’s smiling, and Tony sits on the bed beside him, desperate to reach out and touch, but not wanting to aggravate him. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs softy, “you hungry? Thirsty? Is it too cold?”

Peter giggles, and it’s such an innocent sound, Tony feels all the stress leave him for a moment. “‘m a little hun’ry,” he says, even as his eyes droop shut again.

The doctor’s had said he’d be drowsy for a while. Confused. The medicine he takes before bed will help get the serum out of his brain fluid, but it’ll take time. “I’ll get you something.” Tony promises, rising. “Is there anything you want?”

Peter makes a little muffled sound, but doesn’t reply, and Tony smiles softly. He wants more than anything to drop a kiss onto his husband’s nose, but he doesn’t. Instead, he heads for the door, before he hears: “the c’real we had on our honeymoon,”

He whirls around, heart pounding, but Peter’s already fast asleep.

* _  
“What else?” Peter moans, bucking into Tony’s fist._

_“I’d kiss all down your neck- then you’re mouth, cuz you’d laugh- you’re so ticklish, baby. Then I’d turn you over, spread your cheeks-“_

_Peter cums with a little cry, and Tony catches all of it so none of it hits Peter’s sunburnt skin._

_As he wipes his hand, Peter sinks into the pillows and looks over lustfully. “I wish we could have sex. I’m making this the worst honeymoon ever.”_

_“Oh, I dunno,” Tony chuckles, coming to join him on the mattress. “Rubbing you in aloe is pretty fun. Plus, I’ve been getting a lot of blowjobs, so I’m not complaining.”_

_Peter smiles lop-sidedly, before his stomach rumbles. Tony arches an eyebrow._

_“Room service time?”_

_“No,” Peter whines, “it’s past midnight, I don’t wanna bother them.”_

_“I think it’s their job, sweetheart.”_

_“No.” Peter pouts, and Tony laughs, getting to his feet._

_“I’ll pop down to the shops, then. See what I can find.”_

_“Want me to come?” Peter asks, even as he burrows further into the feathers, peaking out into the starry night sky._

_“You rest up, bambino, I’ll be back soon.”_

_He returns in almost the blink of an eye, brandishing two bowls, and a box of cereal._

_“What even is that?” Peter asks excitedly, clambering out of bed to join Tony as they sit, cross-legged, on the marble floor. The tiles are obscenely cold, and it’s such a nice contrast to the humid weather. He squints as he tries to read the label, but the language is too difficult to pronounce._

_“Cereal, I think,” Tony chuckles, pouring them both a bowlful and adding milk._

_They crunch into it at the same time, and Tony splutters-_

_“It’s pure sugar.” He recoils, but Peter moans in bliss-_

_“s’amazin’!” He gushes with his mouth full, already reaching for his neck spoonful._

_Tony laughs, and watches as Peter devours the whole box. “You are gonna get one hell of a sugar high,” he warns, but Peter’s already giggling silly on the floor. “Doofus.” Tony teases, reaching out to ruffle his hair, and when he kisses Peter- his lips taste of artificial sugar and love._

*  
Peter stares down at the bowl of cereal as though heaven might be lurking in the milk.

“Oh god,” Tony guffaws, and Peter looks up, to see the dark haired man laughing at him. “You got that same orgasmic look on your face when you ate that on our honeymoon. I thought you might want an annulment and you’d run away with the cereal.”

Peter nods, taking it in. “We didn’t have sex.” He says, thinking hard. He’s sure he’s had a flash of this before. “I was all sunburnt.”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers, his eyes sparkling with adoration, “do you remember that?”

“A little,” Peter admits. He doesn’t want to give the man false hope. He still feels dizzy and off-kilter, but- “It’s better here,” he says quietly, mixing the cereal with his spoon. “Waking up here feels right. I kept dreaming of being in the sky- of this bed, of…” he looks up, feeling inexplicably shy, “of _you_ ,”

“Peter,” Tony whispers, and Peter can tell that every inch of the man wants to embrace him, so he opens up his arms. This man is his husband, after all, and all the things that felt wrong with Beck, feel right with Tony. He just needs time- time to get his memories back, to sort through the mess of his mind.

Tony comes over immediately, climbing onto the bed and tugging Peter into his arms.

Peter sighs and finds himself relaxing instinctively into the embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmurs, closing his eyes. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you-“

“Peter.” Tony cuts him off; aghast, “this is only about you. Don’t worry about anyone but yourself, sweetheart, I’m- I’m just glad to have you back.” He kisses Peter’s curls and Peter strokes one hand down the coarse hair on Tony’s arm- all the way down to his wrist and then his fingers. There’s a wedding ring there.

“Where’s my wedding ring?” He asks quietly, “is it- gone?” The loss feels immense.

“No, no, baby, Pepper recovered it. It’s waiting for you. Whenever you want to wear it again.”

Peter doesn’t want to hurt Tony’s feelings. He doesn’t want his husband looking at his bare finger, but he doesn’t think he can. Not yet anyway- but Tony’s been so good to him-

“Peter, sweetheart,” Tony mutters, kissing the tip of Peter’s ear. “It doesn’t bother me. I just want you to get better, okay? Eat up, there’s plenty more.”

He perks up at that. “There’s more?”

“Five boxes.” Tony promises, and Peter shakes his head in amazement.

“I can see why I fell in love with you, Mr Stark.” He teases- and gasps when suddenly Tony’s lips are on his.

God, this is- _nothing_ like kissing Beck. Sure, all the same physical sensations, the scratch of the beard, the dominating nature- but it’s not. Tony’s gentle and guiding, not demanding, and there’s not just desire, but love teeming through every point of contact- Peter’s whole body lights up in response-

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony pants, breaking away. Their foreheads are pressed together, and Tony’s cool breath fans over his face. “I couldn’t help myself- you’re just so- _Peter_.”

Peter lets out a stunned laugh, “I didn’t mind,” he admits, just relishing being this close.

Tony kisses his temple, and pulls away. “Eat up, pretty boy. Then go back to sleep.”

That sounds like a fine idea to Peter.

*

_“I- uh, oh wow- hi.” The man stammers, looking over his test tubes at the new recruit. “Are you uh- Peter Parker?”_

_The boy in question blushes beautifully and Beck is winded. Jesus, how is anyone that gorgeous? “Yeah, that’s me- hi. Are you Mr Beck?”_

_“Just Beck,” he corrects, smiling, watching as Peter smiles back. God, there’s a chemistry there. It’s undeniable. He throbs with want. “Well, welcome to Nanotech at SI, Peter. You have quite the resumé.” Pretty and smart._

_“Thank you,” the boy blushes again. The lab coat he’s wearing is a little big for him- he’s probably borrowing one of the spares before his own gets sent down. It makes him look small and in need of protecting. “It’s kinda been a dream of mine- to work for SI someday. Tony Stark’s sort of my hero,” he laughs lightly._

_Beck tries not to sneer at that. “Stark doesn’t have much to do with this department.” He says primly, leading Peter over to his desk. “But he does keep us well stocked. You should find everything you need to start on your proposals. They get sent up from research, we tweak and test, then send it to marketing if everything goes well. If you need any help, I’m right here.” He pats the work bench opposite. “Looks like we’ll be getting to know each other, Peter.”_

_The boy beams, obediently taking his seat. “I look forward to it, Beck.”_

*  
“Before we start, Peter,” Rosanne says gently, “would you like Tony to leave?”

Peter blinks in surprise. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he didn’t think that would be an option. He turns to look at Tony, who’s sitting next to him on the old, green velvet couch, and thinks. This is supposed to be about- Beck, about everything he did to Peter- about how Peter will have to cope. He’s overheard them using words like ‘assault’ and ‘kidnapping’ and ‘rape’.

He opens his mouth, but isn’t sure how to phrase it.

Tony takes his hand, and strokes a thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Whatever you want, Pete,” he murmurs, and Peter shrinks under the love in his gaze.

“Peter,” Rosanne says, obviously spotting his turmoil, “this is a safe space, no one’s going to judge you. Say whatever you like.”

He wants to close his eyes and just blurt it out. But he fixes his gaze on a piece of fabric peeling away from one of the cushions. “I want you here,” he whispers, because he does. More and more over the past few days, Tony makes him feel safe. “But I don’t want to- to hurt you- because…” he feels sick. “I didn’t hate what- what Beck did. What we did. I- I was consenting- I- I _betrayed_ you and-“

He’s hauled into a hug, and he gives in and closes his eyes, curling into Tony’s side. “I’ll stay.” Tony says over his head, and Peter nearly shakes with relief.

“Peter,” Rosanne broaches, after a long moment of silence, “can you look at me?”

Peter shuffles his head a little, still leaning into Tony.

He likes Rosanne, Peter decides. Although really, he’d decided that as soon as he’d walked in. She didn’t look anything like psychiatrists he’d pictured, or seen in movies. She had messy hair and kind eyes, and laughter lines around her mouth. Her office was a patchwork of second hand furniture and well-thumbed books. Peter had spotted an old edition of _Wind in the Willows_ and _Watership Down._ She doesn’t keep a pen in hand, or a notebook splayed over her lap, but rather, she has one leg over the other, covered by a dark floral skirt, and she smiles a lot.

“Hi,” she grins, when he meets her eyes.

“Hi,” he parrots, grinning a little in response.

“I need to tell you something, Peter, and it’s going to be hard to hear, but you have to try and understand it, okay? If you disagree, you just tell me. We’ll talk about it like the two grown-ups we are. Of course,” she goes a little teasing, “I am the one with the phD.”

Peter laughs at that, and feels Tony’s arm slide reassuringly around his waist. “Okay,” he promises.

“Peter,” she goes a little more serious, “Beck lied to you about who he was. He manipulated you into thinking that you two were married, and because of that, anything you believe you consented to- was not actual consent.”

Peter frowns. “But I wanted it.” He looks up at Tony, feeling horribly guilty, but Tony just kisses his hair and urges him to go on. “Sometimes I-“ he swallows a lump in his throat, “-I instigated it.”

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question, Peter?”

He nods.

“Imagine a husband and wife are going to engage in some role play while they have sex. He’s going to wear a mask and pretend to be an intruder.” Peter nods, following along. “Well, let’s say when the husband went out of the bedroom to put the mask on- a real intruder knocked him out- and went into the bedroom, pretended to be the husband, and had sex with the wife. She was eager, she thought it was her husband, does that mean the intruder didn’t rape her?”

“No, but-“ Peter feels sick. Is that what Beck did? _Use_ him?

“You’re very strong, Peter.” Rosanne says sincerely, “and you’re very intelligent. Very logical. You’ll rationalise this brilliantly, and that’ll help you move past it, certainly. But it won’t help you cope. You have to know what Beck did to you.”

“I know he’s not a good guy,” Peter protests, “I know he’s sick, but he- he was _kind_ to me. He took care of me. We- we laughed together- we had fun- he- if I was ever hurt, he-“

“He hurt you, Peter. This sort of dynamic is not unusual in abusive relationships.”

“He blames himself,” Tony says, voice low, “he does this thing- he always has- where he blames himself.”

“I don’t-“

“You got sunburnt on our honeymoon, Peter, and you said it was your fault.”

He flushes. “I should have remembered to put suncream on.”

Rosanne interjects: “You’re clearly a kind, person, Peter. Too kind, I wonder.”

Peter doesn’t get a memory flash, but he knows, in his core, that he’s been called that before.

*  
“Where’s Peter?” Strange asks, when Tony returns to the penthouse.

“Still with the therapist. They’ve been talking for hours. Doing good, I think.” Tony answers. It cuts him up inside that Peter is blaming himself. 

“Peter’s very strong.” Stephen agrees.

Tony takes a seat at the bar, and watches as Strange pours him some tea. Tony recoils from it, but Strange gives him a look that leaves no room for argument. He swears by these horrible herbal teas. But Peter likes drinking them, and Tony feels pretty tired. “Rosie’s trying to get Peter to realise he was a victim. I just- I’m not even sure I want him to know that, but anything’s better than him blaming himself for all of this.”

“He’s blaming himself?” The taller man hisses, shaking his head in dismay.

“He said Beck was _kind_.” Tony spits, “that fucking psycho took Peter and-“

“It’ll be alright.” Stephen reassures, taking a deep breath. “It will. Because he has you, Tony. Have you seen how he’s become closer and closer to you?”

Tony smiles at that. “He let me hold his hand. Didn’t jump or anything.”

Stephen looks pleased. “Well, there we go. One step at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love loopy Peter. 
> 
> Only one more chapter left, my little chickadees! Peter's gonna get his memories back, there's gonna be some starker smut (finally), happy endings, and a very cute flashback. Definitely hang around ;) MWAH gorgeous people!


	9. Feeling Right

When Peter wakes up, for the first time in the four days he’s been back- he’s alone.

Morning sunlight is streaming in through the windows, and he sits up, blankets pooling around his waist as he looks out. It feels so much better: seeing the giant buildings of New York and how they brush the skies. It’s not as natural as the greenery, but it’s beautiful too, in it’s own way. How the dawn rays glisten off every roof and piece of glass, how different squares of light blink into life and everything seems to sparkle with the newness of a different day.

Tony’s desk is still at the foot of the bed, but the man himself is absent. Peter cocks his head and listens; the bathroom’s empty, and he can’t hear anyone just outside the door.

He’s alone.

It’s…nice.

He flops back down onto the cushions and inhales deeply. His head hurts almost all the time now, but Dr Cho had said that was to be expected. It’s more of a mild persistent throb, rather than the random spiralling shoots of agony he got before.

Things are getting through the cracks now. Things that stay. That he likes vitamin tea and doing yoga. Equations and lab protocols- random titles from songs on his favourite Spotify playlists. Each little fact makes him feel more himself. Makes him feel more whole. Like a huge part of him that was carved out, is being given out, piece by piece.

He treasures each little bit of information.

He gets out of bed and heads to his wardrobe, opening the doors and just relishing in looking at his clothes. Whereas back in that cabin, all the clothes had looked unfamiliar- here, everything looks right. There are colourful flannel, pastel sweaters, dark wash jeans and gym gear that all feels right as he brushes his fingertips over them. There’s an old MIT sweatshirt, and he knows that he never wears it. That he steals Tony’s. There are a few tailored suits- all obscenely expensive- and he knows that he’s worn them to fancy events. Stark galas, weddings, parties. He can remember them like very, very faint fairy lights- twinkling in the distance. Not enough light to read anything by, but enough to know they’re there. That it exists.

He pads over to Tony’s wardrobe, and steals the MIT sweatshirt, and it hugs him exactly the way he knew it would, before he slips out of the bedroom.

He hasn’t seen much of the penthouse, so he takes his time exploring. There’s a study, and a games room (out of the two, the latter looks much more used) and a number of guest bedrooms. He heads into the living room, and stops- staring at the TV.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s is playing, and he watches for a moment, as Audrey Hepburn pets her cat.

He wants to sit on the sunken couch, wants to curl up- his head on Tony’s lap- he has a feeling they’ve done it before, that it’s their go-to move.

He heads into the kitchen, and pauses at the sight of Tony attempting to flip pancakes.

It makes him laugh.

Tony looks up; pleased surprise all over his face, and his eyes drag down Peter’s form in a way that makes the boy prickle all over with lust. “You’re awake! I was just making you breakfast.” He gestures for Peter to take a seat.

“Pancakes?” Peter says gratefully, hopping up onto one of the stools. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Don’t teach your grandma.” Tony warns, brandishing his spatula menacingly and Peter giggles, reaching forward for the bowl of freshly sliced pineapple.

As soon as the flavour bursts across his tongue- he realises. Sliced strawberries with pancakes- Beck had said that was his favourite, and Peter hadn’t known enough to dispute him.

But it’s not. Pineapple is. And Tony always teased him for it- and here it is, in a bowl, all ready and-

“Peter!” Tony cries in alarm, rushing around the counter to hug Peter tight. “Don’t cry, why are you crying? Are you alright? Do you need Stephen? I-”

“No, no-“ Peter smiles, just gesturing helplessly to the bowl. “I’m just _home_.”

Tony chuckles wetly, ruffling his hair. “Damn straight you are.”

*

“And how does that make you feel?” Rosanne asks, feeling every inch the therapist she is, and Peter takes a second, before pealing out into laughter.

“Really?” He giggles, tucking his knees under himself as he makes himself more snug on the couch. “Really, really?” He’s been getting more comfortable in here, which makes her glad. He’s quite the gentlemen, blossoming under her attention like a pretty flower.

“Peter,” she chides, though her tone is fonder than appropriate, “you found the bodies. It’s a traumatic experience, one you went through at the height of an awful day. Do you remember anything about the Toomes family?”

“Bits about Adrian, I think,” Peter says, nibbling at his bottom lip.

He does it when he’s nervous, which isn’t very often. She wonders if he knows he does it. “What can you tell me about Adrian?” She prompts, when he doesn’t offer it up voluntarily.

He dresses more and more like himself every day. Of course, she didn’t know him before the kidnapping, but she’s seen photos. All bright colours and wacky fashion choices. When he first shuffled in here, he was swaddled in dark sheets and casual pants, and now- he’s in a bright yellow sweater, with a ruffled white collar peaking out- in jeans more his own, with striped socks. “I think- I’m not sure, sorry,” he prefaces. He apologises a lot too. When he shouldn’t. She wonders if he’s always been like that. Probably. Probably bullied during high school too. The sweet ones always are. “I think when I worked with SI-“

“You do work with SI, Peter,” she corrects mildly, and he shoots her a bashful grin.

“Yeah, back when I started and I was- working with Beck- I think I was mugged one night. I think it was Adrian, I think he took a memory stick I was carrying. It was protection weaponry for one of the SI departments. He wanted to use it for himself, but…” Peter shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips, “he couldn’t hack the stick anyway.”

“Were you hurt?” She asks, and Peter scrunches up his nose a little, like he’d rather talk about how amazing the encryption coding on Stark data is.

“A little. A few bruises, but I was fine.”

Hm. She’ll have to circle back to that. “And you told Beck about it?”

“Well,” Peter flushes, “he saw the bruises, so…”

Of course. Peter would most likely try to hide anything that happened if he could. Wouldn’t want to cause a fuss. “And he was worried about you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t…I didn’t think anything of it, I guess. I never wanted…” his face goes very white, and his eyes drift like he’s reliving that horrible moment. “I never wanted anything to happen to the Toomes family- they had- a- a _daughter_ , he had a wife. We lived in that house, I slept in _their_ bed-“

“Quintin is very sick.” She soothes, “he killed that family, in part, because of what Adrian did to you, but mostly because he wanted to _use_ them. He wanted to use their home, to ensnare you, Peter. Mr Beck is a twisted individual.”

Peter nods. He looks like he believes her. That’s good, at least.

“I’m surprised, though,” she confesses, “that Tony didn’t question the bruises either, and have Adrian tracked down himself. He’s very protective of you.” Most people in Peter Parker’s life are. Protective. Something about him, Rosanne supposes. The big brown eyes, the delicate frame. But he’s stronger than he looks. Still though, there’s something there. She doesn’t take jobs like this often, but when Strange had insisted- she’d seen a personal interest in his eyes- a protective gleam- something she’d only ever seen towards Stephen’s closest friends.

Peter’s something special.

“Oh, Tony and I- we didn’t know each other at that point, I don’t think,” Peter says.

“Do you remember how you met?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm.” She nods. Peter looks tense. He always does when she brings up the memories he’s lacking. She turns the conversation. “And how are you feeling around Tony? Do you still like having Stephen nearby?”

Immediately, Peter’s whole body lights up. His shoulder’s relax and he smiles- breathtakingly beautiful. Rosanne thinks it’s a shame he didn’t pursue acting. Not a shame for science, of course. “Tony’s great, I- I don’t need Stephen around as much anymore, but um- I like it when he calls to check up on me. Makes me feel more grounded.”

She nods understandingly. “Tony’s great?”

Peter blushes, a rose petal unfurling, “yeah, he’s- it’s _easy_ with him. He’s funny, too.”

“He makes you laugh?”

Peter nods enthusiastically. “He uh- he climbs on all the furniture when he’s yelling at DUM-E, like-“ he giggles, “-like he has to be tall to act like a parent.”

The sound of Peter’s laughter is immensely melodic. “And how do the two of you get on?”

“Good,” Peter says easily, “I mean- everyone’s still really careful around me, like they think I’m gunna break, and I don’t blame them because…I feel like I might, sometimes. But with Beck, I was always rationalising his actions- like, maybe he was acting different now than in my memories, but with Tony, I can…” he closes his eyes; visualing like she’s taught him, “…I can see his behaviour’s the same, pretty much. That he’s always worried about me, joked around with me. Stuff like that.”

She can’t stop smiling. “That’s very encouraging, Peter.”

*

That night, his headaches burn.

He whimpers, trying to bite back the sound, as his hands tug ineffectually at his hair- looking for any sort of relief.

He gasps when something deliciously cold is pressed against his scalp and he leans into it hurriedly, almost sobbing with relief.

“I’ve got you,” Tony whispers in the darkness, one arm winding around Peter’s waist, the other holding the icepack. “It’s okay, it’s okay, do you want me to get the doctors?”

Peter feels tears slip down his cheeks at the pain, but he shakes his head, sniffling. “Tony,” he hiccups pitifully, and Tony curses above him.

“How do I help?” He agonises, and Peter curls into him, hoping that sleep will offer sweet relief.

* _  
“God, three days away from you is three days too many.” Tony grunts, hands spreading Peter’s thighs further apart, as he watches his boy muffle his moan into the pillow. “Hey, hey, none of that,” Tony warns, playfully nipping at Peter’s cheek, before licking a stripe up his hole. He feels his boy tremble underneath him._

_“No teasin’, Tony,” Peter pants, grinding back greedily, “I’ve missed you too much.”_

_Tony chuckles, even as he kisses up Peters spine until he reaches those Disney-prince curls. He reaches for the lube with one hand even as Peter pushes back in vain to impale himself. “I could tell, princess. Walking in here to see you with your little fingers in your greedy hole. Wasn’t enough was it, baby?”_

_Peter throws him a pout, “daddy,” he whines, “you’re being mean.”_

_Tony laughs at that, even as he notches the head of his cock at Peter’s hole. “I’m sorry, princess. You were hugging the pillow, feeling lonely, and daddy’s teasing you. Teasing his precious boy,”_

_“Pillow smelt like you.” Peter whimpers, and Tony groans, pausing to reach over and kiss his boy on the lips._

_“I missed you so much,” he says, “I love you, and I won’t leave again for that long.”_

_“S’okay,” Peter mumbles, cheeks flushed with desire as he keens back onto Tony’s dick, “want you.”_

_“Yeah you do,” he pants, pushing in slowly, shuddering at the feeling of Peter’s tight hole convulsing all around him. “Your fingers weren’t enough, were they? You need daddy to take care of you.” He pushes in further and Peter mewls, fingers scrabbling at the bed sheets as he tries to take more. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re always so tight.” He grunts as he pushes in all the way, and Peter lets out a cry of pleasure, and sure enough, when Tony reaches around, Peter’s tiny little cock is dribbling all over the bed. “Such a messy princess,” he coos, as he pulls out and then thrusts in again- Peter lets out these delicious sounds and Tony feels dizzy with desire. Fuck, how did he go without this for three whole days?_

_“Tony,” Peter says breathlessly, grabbing Tony’s hand and twining their fingers together. He nuzzles into his boyfriend’s wrist, before taking his thumb into his mouth and Tony groans loudly at that._

_“Fuck, Pete,” he hisses, rhythm getting sloppy, “are you trying to kill me?”_

_Peter smirks a little, and his lips get all red and shiny as they suck on Tony’s thumb-_

*  
Tony is rather rudely awoken, by something landing on him, and then jumping up and down.

He groans blearily, blinking awake, and wondering if whether Peter has actually bought a puppy to surprise him with. But then he focuses, and he can see his husband (figures, he’s basically a puppy. Tony’s half-right) straddling him, and looking terribly excited. “Tony!” Peter yells, when he sees Tony’s awake, “I remember!”

Tony turns away with a yawn. “That’s great, honey,” he mumbles- before he freezes.

Everything comes flooding back, and he sits up with a jerk, almost knocking his husband off his lap- before he reaches out to grab him. “You remember?” He gapes, and Peter smiles at him- reaching out to tweak his nose and declare:

“You cried watching the Hunger Games!”

Tony swats at him, but he feels like crying with joy. “That’s a trade secret, scamp,” he mutters, hauling Peter in for a hug. He buries his face in the crook of Peter’s neck and feels his tears wet the skin. “Everything? You’re sure- everything?” _Me? All of me? The secret things we’ve shared- everything we’ve been through?_

“Everything, Tony,” Peter promises, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair the same way he did when Tony’s mother died. “I remember every single thing. It’s me. I’m back.”

Tony lets out a sob, and he holds Peter tighter, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever let him go.

*  
Tony’s been hovering at his side the whole day, but Peter doesn’t mind.

He’s whole again. Everything’s back, and the past three weeks feel like some sort of horrible nightmare. He can’t believe Beck would- he should have seen the signs- but no. Like Rosanne says, you can never tell what sets someone off. Beck needs help. He’s getting help.

But he’s here, he’s _home_ , with Tony. He can’t believe he ever forgot him, his idiot, genius husband who he loves more than anything in the whole entire world.

He remembers MIT and studying for his degree, he remembers getting completely drunk with MJ at graduation. He remembers his crappy little studio apartment in the outskirts of Brooklyn, he remembers how it felt to see his name on an SI badge for the first time.

He remembers meeting his childhood hero, Tony Stark, and then finding out there was so much more to him. Someone Peter loved.

He rememebrs the fear- the trepidation- how hard he resisted his own feelings when they started dating.

He remembers the bliss of their wedding day.

He remembers watching movies and singing songs and just living with the love of his life.

He remembers how happy he was. How happy he _is_.

“I’ve missed you so much, Peter,” Tony whispers, like he’s afraid to say it too loud. Like he thinks Peter’s memories will disappear again.

“I missed you too, Tony,” he says, their hands pressed tightly together. “Now that I have you back in here-“ he taps his forehead with their joined hands, “-it feels like I’m back. Like maybe- forgetting you- you’re a part of me, Tony.”

Tony laughs, but his eyes are still glistening with tears. Happy tears. “Now that you remember, I need to- I need to tell you how sorry I am that I couldn’t protect you. That I didn’t stop him-“

“Tony,” Peter shakes his head. He remembers that night now. Remembers how scared he was, but how he knew saving Tony was- “I risked my life for you then,” Peter murmurs, “I would risk my life for you again and again. I know you’d do the same for me, Tony, you did everything you could.” He pulls back, looking at his husband’s face, which is unconvinced. Peter laughs, and untangles their hands to brush his fingers through all of Tony’s greys. God, he loves him so much. “Rosanne said it wasn’t my fault I got taken. And you know something? She didn’t say it was yours either.”

Tony half-smiles. “But I’m _Iron Man_ -“

“No,” Peter corrects, kissing Tony’s crows feet, “you’re Tony Stark. My husband. A very brave man. Flesh and bone and arc reactor, and _mine_.”

He had been blown away before, by the love that Beck and Tony had for him. When he was standing in the crimson forest and looking between the two of them. Trying to distinguish from the liars. But he knows now. He understands. Beck doesn’t love him, he’s obsessed with him. In having anything, owning anything, that he thinks is good. But Tony- that love- it’s not something Tony just has for him. It’s something they share. Because Peter feels that same undying, untarnished love right back, and from the outside- he wonders if it looks impossible, to love someone so much.

He wants to tell the world it isn’t. That there’s hope.

Tony kisses him, and Peter smiles against his lips.

“Grab me a tissue?” Tony asks, sniffling, and Peter gets to his feet and heads to the kitchen.

When he gets back- Tony’s down on one knee, holding his ring.

Peter laughs, and he starts crying for the umpteenth time today. “Tony,” he chokes, drawing nearer, standing above the love of his life.

“Peter,” Tony breathes, taking his hand. “I don’t have any apple juice to spill on the floor, but I have this ring. And I know for a fact that it fits.”

“Put it on me.” Peter giggles. “I love you.”

Tony does slide it onto his finger, and then stands up and hoists Peter up into the air.

“Well, come on then,” Peter laughs, eyes still a little blurry, and tugging Tony towards the door. “We have to go christen the lab. We’re newly weds, after all.”

“Goddamn,” Tony whistles, as Peter shakes his ass teasingly, “you’re going to ruin me.”

“And…?”

“And I’m gunna love every minute of it.”

* _  
When Suzie gets to him, she’s stressed. Peter knows this, because normally her hair is completely perfect. And now, it’s fraying all around her alice band. Her eyes are wide and manic, and she’s shaking. “Peter!” She cries, and Peter hurries over to her._

_“What’s wrong, Suzie?” He gushes, “is everything alright-“_

_“It’s Stark’s new receptionist.” She cries, unloading all of her stuff onto Peter’s desk. She’s moving a mile a minute. “She didn’t show up today- I’m so behind, Peter, please, can you do me a massive favour?”_

_Peter pales, and he takes a step back. “You don’t mean…”_

_“Just for the day!” She hurries to explain, even as she tugs him forward and drapes her own ID card over his neck. “Please!”_

_Peter can’t move. What- no- “Tony Stark’s receptionist?” He gasps, near hyperventilating “You want me to pretend to be THE Tony Stark’s receptionist? I can’t- I’ll faint- I’ve never even been near him!”_

_“It’ll be fine, Peter, please,” Suzie begs, loading his arms with coffee and papers. “Just get the elevator up to floor 27-“_

_“27?!” Peter exclaims-_

_“And hand him his coffee and these stack of papers. The ones with the blue post-it note.” She points to it, and Peter struggles to remember it all while juggling his papers. “Tell him he has to sign them by three, then walk out. That’s it. Super duper easy.”_

_Peter stumbles as she pushes him towards the elevator. “What if he asks me a question?” He wails, as Suzie pushes the button._

_“He won’t, Peter!” She insists, “please! If you do this for me, I’ll cover for you this weekend so you can go to that Comic-Con thing with Ned.”_

_Peter bites his lip, but he- he does want to see Mr Stark up close. See what he’s like and-_

_“He won’t ask me any questions?” He repeats worriedly, and she nods in relief, shoving him into the open elevator._

_“He won’t.” She promises, and then she’s gone behind the silver doors._

_Peter has about three breakdowns on the ride up. As he gets higher and higher- he breaks out into a sweat. Oh god, he’s not meant to go this high. This is Mr Stark’s personal residence- Peter should be- back in nanotech- maybe he could call Beck- Beck would do it- Beck doesn’t fangirl over Tony Stark like Peter does-_

_“If I may, Mr Parker,” comes a voice, and Peter jumps so hard the elevator shakes. He looks up to see nothing, before recognising JARVIS. “You don’t appear to be wearing your own ID necklace.”_

_Peter tries to wipe the sweat off his brow on his shoulder, as his knuckles turn white around the paper he’s holding. He feels naked without his labcoat. He looks down at his button up and jeans and hopes it’s appropriate enough- “Uh- no- s-sorry, J-JARVIS, u-um, Suzie asked me to- to run these papers up to-t-to Mr Stark and maybe give him his coffee?” He clears his throat a few times, but the pitch doesn’t change._

_There’s a long, horrible silence, before the elevator stops and the doors open. “Thank you for explaining, Mr Parker. Master Stark is just in his study. Down the corridor, to the left.”_

_“Master?” Peter can’t help but squeak out, even as he steps off the elevator. His jaw drops. The penthouse is even more gorgeous than the rumours say. The windows look out over New York-_

_“Sir has a very unique sense of humour.” JARVIS says dryly, before he’s gone._

_Peter takes a moment to steel himself, before heading to the study._

_He knocks once, with his limited range of motions, but the door is already ajar, and he can hear Mr Stark say: “yeah?”_

_He pushes open the door with his elbow, and tries not to trip over his own feet as he heads over to the desk. The study is more like an office, it’s so big. There’s a huge majogany desk and a lot of screens everywhere._

_And jesus, that’s Mr Stark. Sitting at his desk. He’s so handsome Peter feels his knees buckle a little. How is anyone that handsome?_

_He stumbles over, and Mr Stark looks at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. Peter’s face burns. Can the man tell Peter had a poster of him hanging in his dorm room back in MIT?_

_“U-um- your coffee, sir,” he whispers, setting down the coffee, and then gently laying down the papers. “And-and- you need to sign these papers-“ he touches the blue ones “-b-before t-three, if you can.” Was it three? Crap, Peter hopes it was three. Has he messed up already?_

_“If I can?” Mr Stark drawls, glancing over the papers, before his gaze falls back on Peter. “I think I can handle it, bambi.”_

_Bambi? Oh god. Peter’s gonna think about that tonight- but he goes cherry red at the words, and swallows hard. “I-I mean, of course you can, S-sir- but-“_

_“Call me Tony, kid,” he reassures with a wave of his hand. “You’re my new receptionist, huh? You’re very pretty.”_

_Oh god. Is he gonna faint? He thinks he might faint._

_“You have a name?”_

_“I-I’m P-Peter P-Parker, S-Sir.”_

_Tony takes a long sip from his coffee, even as his eyes drag down Peter’s form. It’s a hot look, that sends a jolt of lust straight to Peter’s dick. Oh god, don’t get an erection- “I didn’t think Susan suited you.”_

_Peter looks down at his ID card and pales. “I- uh-“_

_“Don’t worry,” Tony winks, “I won’t tell anyone. Security probably gave you the wrong one, don’t worry. Now,” he leans forward, a cocky smirk on his face, “onto more important matters, Mr Parker. I burn through receptionists, you know? We can’t seem to keep our hands to ourselves. So much sexual tension. It’s a problem.”_

_Peter’s ears feel warm._

_“So, you know, to get any potential awkwardness out of the way…” Tony raises his eyebrows and gestures to the desk. “Wanna just get it over with?”_

_Peter blinks. Then he bursts out laughing. Once he starts, he can’t stop, giggles escaping nonstop, and he can hardly register that Mr Stark is looking at him in surprise, until he finally manages to settle down. “Sorry-“ Peter gasps for breath, “I just- I’m not going to sleep with you, Mr Stark. With the greatest respect.”_

_“Oh.” Tony seems surprised, but not insulted. “And why’s that?”_

_“I just…” Peter shrugs, looking off, “I think maybe you should sign the blue-marked papers before three.” He tucks a curl behind his ear, and blushes again when Tony’s eyes track the movement._

_“I’m not your type?” Tony prods, ignoring the paper. “Only swing one way?”_

_“Oh no, you’re more than my type.” Peter corrects, because Tony Stark is probably the definition of sex on legs, “I just…” he smiles bashfully, “though there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m not a casual sex kind of guy. Not even for you.”_

_“Not even for me.” Tony hums thoughtfully, “well alright. I look forward to working with you, Mr Parker. I’m sure I’ll win you over.”_

_“I doubt it.” Peter teases, feeling a little giddy at the fact that he won’t be here tomorrow because he isn’t actually Mr Stark’s receptionist. He wonders if the older man will think about him. He hopes so. Maybe Mr Stark will actually track him down- JARVIS knows his name, after all- maybe he’ll come down to nanotech and-_

_“Hm,” Stark hums, quirking his lips before sighing. “Well alright then. Maybe you’ll hold out a little longer than the others. I look forward to it. But if you don’t, I’m always available.” He winks._

_Peter heads for the door, feeling more confident than he ever has. There’s a skip in his step. Tony Stark thinks he’s pretty. “In your dreams,” Peter chirps, feeling bold, and Stark laughs then- loud and pleased._

_“I’ll see you there.” He promises._

_Peter hopes he does._

*

EPILOGUE 

“What’s all this?” Tony grumbles, heading into the kitchen to see Peter and Harley munching on chocolate-soaked waffles and talking animatedly about cartoons. 

Harley looks up with a triumphant smirk. “I wasn’t feelin’ so good, so Peter made me waffles.”

Peter smiles, licking chocolate off his lips and pecking Tony on the cheek. He’s all dressed for work. Tony’s still in his pyjamas. “There’s some for you too, handsome,” he murmurs, and Tony smiles warmly, before glaring at Harley over Peter’s head.

“I thought we were gonna have bacon.”

“Oh, sweetie, we were,” Peter soothes, “but Harley wasn’t feeling good.”

“Yeah,” Harley sticks his tongue out at Tony as soon as Peter turns away, “I wasn’t feeling good.”

“You were feeling like a sore loser.” Tony snaps under his breath, “you lost Trivial Pursuit fair and square, kid. Winner chooses breakfast, and I chose bacon.”

“It was not fair and square, you cheated!”

“I did not cheat.”

“Well, you’re about a billion years older than me, so I should be given bonus points!”

“Peter, darling, your child is disrespecting me.” Tony whines, and Peter’s laughter rings out. 

“Oh, sure, he’s _my_ child when he’s disrespecting you, but when he’s helping you hide from Pepper, he’s _your_ child.” He beams, even as he shrugs on his lab coat. “Alright, I have to go help Lisa on the latest project, okay? Will you two be alright?” He drops a kiss onto Harley’s hair, and the boy leans in for a hug. Tony hides his smile into his coffee cup. The kid’s a brat for sure, but...he’s kinda cute. Sometimes. 

“I’ll look after the kids as you bring home the bacon, gorgeous,” Tony teases, leaning down as Peter tiptoes to kiss him lightly.

“Mm,” Peter snorts, heading for the door. “You joke, but I think DUM-E needs some attention, Tony.”

“We can give him a tune up!” Harley exclaims enthusiastically, and Tony nods.

“Good idea. Your brother needs a bit of love. You get everything ready, I’m gonna give Peter a real kiss before he leaves.”

Harley makes a face. “He literally works a floor away.” He whines, even as he runs off.

Peter pauses at the door, eyes expectant. “Come on then, where’s this _real_ kiss, Mr Stark?”

Tony saunters over, and dips his husband in his arms so Peter squeaks with delight. “Oh don’t worry, Mr Stark, it’s coming right up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. We made it. It's been an incredible 9 days, and I love you all so much. Thank you for sticking with me! I love you all! If you ever wanna message me, comment, or hmu on tumblr, I love hearing all your genius ideas! 
> 
> MWAH 
> 
> x

**Author's Note:**

> Come tumble with me at @starkerforlife6969


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